


This Is All I Have

by BID



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: And Then Some, Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Gen, M/M, Sharing a Body, fuck it im gonna ship it, mentions of off-screen torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BID/pseuds/BID
Summary: The Outsider is threatened in the Void and seeks asylum in one of his few Marked that he would trust with his very self. Now it is left to Corvo to pull the strings and find out who or what is threatening the Outsider, making unlikely allies and deadly mistakes, while having to deal with an ancient god in his head and haywire magic.





	1. Hidden Away

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm pretty much brand new to the Dishonored fandom, read through almost the entirety of the Corvosider Tag and now started my own thing. Expect me willfully ignoring established canon things and making up my own stuff as I go. 
> 
> A couple notes/warnings to this fic:  
> \- mental illness is a thing, but this fic is not about mental illness  
> \- there will be no sex at all, just none, not even 'fade to black'  
> \- idk how strongly shippy this will get  
> I don't have very concrete ideas beyond a rough outline, or pre-written chapters. It isn't going to be long though, maybe five chapters.  
> If you have any ideas or criticism or if you just liked it let me know!

_"Corvo, my dear Corvo, listen-"_

He snaps up, finding himself sitting at his desk in his room, papers scattered by the breeze from the open window, a chill hangs in the air. He breathes out, his breath turns into mist and Corvo feels disoriented, confused. He was expecting to wake to the void, but turning and surveying the room everything feels normal.

Normal enough at least, normal for the last couple weeks that his left hand had been burning as if he's stuck it straight into a hill of angry ants. The pain pulls through his bones up to his shoulder at times.

He can feel it licking all the way up to his face this time, his fingers are numb, he feels like there is a cramp between his ribs.

A whisper is pressed against his ear, he can feel the cold breath, he cannot understand the words, he can't make out what their purpose is. They are too hushed, too hurried, static seems to swallow them, white noise like a continuous wave breaching against a cliff. He knows it is the outsider, he knows something is wrong, something is happening.

"I can't hear you." he says quietly into the emptiness of the room, and the whispers only get denser, for a lack of better description, more hurried, more harsh, more blurred.

Corvo pushes away from the desk where he had been lulled into slumber between boredom and the exhaustion of having dueled and trained people half his age for most of the day. There is a pull in his chest. He doesn't have time to pay attention to it as all he understands is urgency, he needs to hear, understand, and instead just hurries to the hidden room, only daring to unlock the chest when he is sure that the door behind him is closed and locked.

The chest is like a small shrine in a box. Easy to conceal, unremarkable compared to the great shrines in the city, but it had felt appropriate to make one either way. Corvo lifts out the former tabletop and places it onto the actual table in the chamber.

Each item on the shrine had been fixated in one way or another so they would not simply fall or slide from their place while in the chest. The centerpiece is a woodcarving Corvo had made himself, put all his effort and rusty skill into creating a likeness to that of the leviathan in the void he had seen. The Outsider had never mentioned or pointed it out, but every time they had met in this room, in front of this shrine the god paid it almost as much attention as to Corvo himself. For a lack of better term, it seemed to at least amuse the outsider, if not outright please him. Corvo isn't sure.  
There are of course other items, bone charms that had found no place in Corvo's coat, shells he had found while a seagull, smooth driftwood instead of the usual sharp jagged wooden planks, an enormous misshapen shape of pearl, a shard of stone that had found its way with Corvo out of the Void. Purple and golden silks, a couple candles which were now the only source of light.

He dropped down to his knees in front of this shrine, placing each of his hands on one of the corners. Bowing his head Corvo takes a deep breath, forces himself to calm down, to let the panic and fear that wormed itself under his skin, had made his hands shake, slough off like oil on water. He had been in enough discomfort lately to already feel somewhat detached, but usually he works against this, usually, he does not allow himself to shift but a centimeter to the left. But he does know how to make it worse. Does know, how to stand two steps back and to the right from his body, a strange alien detachedness that he knows has nothing to do with the void, and everything to do with a sickness of the mind.

Corvo knows though that it has some effect, it would happen at times outside of his control, strong enough to give him vertigo, strong enough not to dare blink for fear of not being able to follow his body. At those times he has caught glimpses of The Outsider, glimpses that he knows were not supposed to happen, that The Outsider himself apparently never noticed. Or at least never acknowledged.

Corvo holds his arms straight but relaxed, makes sure that he has proper balance, and pulls back, and keeps going, keeps pulling, vertigo rushes up to his senses as The Outsiders hurried voice becomes clear, understandable. He can sense his pacing, picks up him berating himself, berating Corvo that, _"A shrine won't make a difference, I can't- it won't- it's too late, there is no time there is no time, how can I- how dare they-"_

Speaking like this is hard, has always been, will always be. Corvo's tongue feels thick and foreign in his mouth when he asks, "What do you need."

The Outside freezes in his pacing, attention snapping back to Corvo as he rushes up to the man, crouches down next to him. _"The Void is roiling, it's- they are doing a ritual, going to- the have set it up- any moment now it will reach- they dare, they want to comb the void- pull me out, they want to bind me- chain me- kill me- and I cannot see what will happen- I cannot see how to stop them, how this passes- I haven't seen them even get to this point, they obscured my gaze- the audacity, to think they-"_

"What," Corvo intones carefully, the god speaks so fast, too fast, like three voices at once, and Corvo could only catch pieces of it, and it still makes not much sense why The Outsider is here of all places then, "do you _need_?"

The Outsider's jaw clicks shut for but a moment, eyes wide, he keeps looking over his shoulder as the roar of the continuous wave gains volume, comes closer.  
_"Let me hide with you, in you,"_ he hisses, pushes, there is pressure at the back of Corvo's mind like The Outsider is already trying to put his foot in the door, he can feel himself resist automatically.

 _"Please."_ the Outsider breathes, pleads, he is pressed to Corvo's side, looking over Corvo's shoulder, a hand is clamped in a crease of Corvo's sweater that he only wears anymore in the privacy of his room due to its age. The wave's roar seems practically above them now and Corvo can barely make out his own voice anymore.

"Okay." he amends, hopes he won't regret this as he feels an odd change of pressure in the air as the wave seems to wash over them, the roar diminishes, the Outsider is gone.

Corvo notices something drip on his cheek, running down to his chin. At first, he thinks he is crying, but only when he wipes at it does he realize it isn't tears, but black ichor pouring from his eyes.

Corvo startles as his back hits the ground, he hadn't realized that he had lost balance or that his body had been tilting backwards. His field of vision is shrinking, there is something rattling through his head, something eating at his left hand, his heart is hammering in his chest, the world is spinning, and Corvo closes his eyes to it.

For a minute he just lies and breathes. Breathing in, holding it, breathing out, holding it, all to the count of four, in through his nose, out through the mouth, willing his chest to stop shuddering and his throat to stop closing up. He doesn't hear anything from the Outsider, but his head feels decidedly cramped, for a lack of better words. It is like he has been shoved against the wall of a room by a crowd, when seconds ago all the space was his to take.

His hand, arm, and neck had stopped burning but instead, his palm now felt cold as if holding a piece of ice or snow. It wasn't unpleasant though, as it was without the sting of frost.

 _"You are small..."_ he thinks, realizing moments later that no, he hadn't thought that. It had been the Outsider's voice in his head. _"You are so small, you always seemed so big, but you are small. How does all of you fit in here."_ The voice rambles, a pitch higher than usual.

Perhaps the panic Corvo had just felt wasn't his at all.

 _'Apparently well enough to fit you too.'_ Corvo responds in thought, the dissociation had faded as he is now hyper-aware of himself. The cold stone floor under his back. The dull ache in his tailbone and shoulder blades. The scratchy sweater.

The change was jarring, but not unwelcome.

 _"I cannot move."_ continues the Outsider as if he hadn't heard, _"I cannot move, trapped, you aren't moving, I can't move you, trapped trapped trapped, oh Void what have I done, what have I done, trapped trapped trapped trapped, I should have never done this, not to yo not to-"_

 _'Outsider.'_ Corvo thinks, loud and clear to himself but the god does not react, does not stop his litany of _"not you but who would have, there was none-"_

"Outsider." Corvo speaks slowly to the empty room, lays his cold marked hand on his racing heart.

The Outsider falls silent for a moment, fear and regret are radiating from him.

"Are you well?" Corvo continues aloud now that he had the Outsiders attention.

There was a minute silence, one in which Corvo could feel the god shift in the confines of his mind, as if trying to uncurl, to stretch, reach out, count his fins perhaps. Whatever it was it made the man's stomach clench uneasily.  
_"I am whole."_ the Outsider confirms hesistantly, _"They could not grasp me and I do not believe that they saw me."_

Corvo just nods and slowly rolls onto his side, moving careful and deliberate, unsure if anything else of his body is affected by this new... development. He makes it onto his knees without issue, and when he gets up dizziness has him lean his weight onto the shrine's corner. He does not feel like falling over again.

Fortunately, the spell passes. All that is left behind is general discomfort and a lurking soreness in his head that will undoubtedly turn into a migraine any moment now. So nothing overly unusual or worrying.

_'And now? How long do you hide?'_

No response is forthcoming and Corvo squints as he carefully returns the shrine to its chest.

"And now? How long do you hide?" he repeats again aloud.

 _"I don't know yet. They need to be stopped, or they won't let the Void rest until they have found me."_ the Outsider answers readily.

"Are you being facetious or can you really not hear my thoughts."

 _"Corvo,"_ the Outsider hisses back, _"Do you not understand what I just did? What just happened? Do you have any idea what you-"_

"Outsider," Corvo interrupts him, he does not have the energy for the God to get lost in words and voices again, when he'd opened the door the light of the sunset behind it had sent a shrill stab of pain rattling through his skull. "You needed help, you came to me, I agreed. That is all I have."

He pulls the curtains closed and breathes a sigh of relief, and annoyance as there was a quick rap at Corvo's chamber door. Two times three knocks, it had to be Emily. He cuts off the Outsiders answer by responding with a "One moment." to the door, while hurrying to the attached bathroom, wetting a towel to quickly clean his face from the half-dried ichor under his eyes. Only when he was sure that his face was clean did he open his door for her.

"Father." she greets him, walking into the room, hands on her hips, as he carefully closes the door behind her, "You missed dinner and Myriel says you did not answer your door. We agreed that you tell me when you leave for the roofs."

"I am sorry," he answers and walks past her to sit down in one of the chairs by the fireplace. His daughter takes the other, still glaring at him. "Though I didn't fly off. I-"

 _"Who are you talking to."_ the Outsider hissed in Corvo's mind.

"I was distracted."

_"Who are you talking- If you dare to reveal-"_

"Distracted." she repeats doubtfully, looking him over with critical eyes. "You look more sick than distracted."

"There was an incident with the Ou-" Corvo gasped mid-sentence as a shock of fear and pain ran down his spine, making him curl up in his chair and press his hands to his face. His heart was racing once again but for a long moment his mind was blank with- with something not dissimilar to the pain of electrocution but not quite. It felt like hitting the water surface back first from two stories up, or more likely the slap of a whales fluke.

"Stop," Corvo hisses out from between his teeth, "stop, stop, stop it's just Emily you know her, you _know_ her. It's fine."

_"Trapped- trapped- trapped- I cannot see-"_

"Then use my eyes!" Corvo snaps back, removing his hands from his face when he realizes Emily has been calling his name. He sees her on her knees in front of him, one hand clamped onto his leg, the other reaching for his face. Then he sees nothing.

Corvo hears Emily gasp, she draws her hand back from his leg so fast that he is sure she had flinched. He has an idea what she is seeing, there is wetness on his cheeks again.

"Ok I take that back," Corvo rasps, still trying to control his breath and the Outsiders voiceless outrage and panic, "you can see through one of them for now until I need it."

 _"Why."_ is is all the Outsider snaps back at him, Corvo's mind itself feels sore and bruised.

"I can't see when you use them." he answers, blinking a couple times to wash the blank substance out of his eye. Emily is still crouched on the floor, looking aghast and confused at what she is witnessing. Her hands though are loose and open, ready to defend herself if necessary. "Can I now tell her what is going on?"

 _"I don't know, can you?"_ the Outsider responds petulantly, but Corvo can feel him curl up tighter again, taking up less space which is an indescribable relief. Corvo's right eye remains blind, and if the Outsider could he is sure it would glare.

"Hello Outsider." Emily greets warily, carefully maneuvering herself back onto the chair.

"I don't think he can hear you." Corvo sighs, only receiving a snapped confirmation from the god. He is so, so tired.

"Okay?" she answers, "What on earth is going on, why is he looking through your eyes."

"Because he is in my body, my mind." Corvo answers wearily while getting up to grab the towel again, "Apparently someone is trying to trap, kill or use The Outsider, and searching the Void to do so. He showed up and... called in a favor."

"And you just went with it. Let an insane god creature from the Void hijack your body with nothing so much as a 'By the way' or thinking about consequences."

Corvo meaningfully lifted his left hand. "You say that as if I can deny him."

_"You owe me nothing, you could have denied me."_

"I could have but what's the point if you might die because of it."

_"Ah, you just wanted to preserve the mark. Understandable."_

Corvo sighs and rubs his face again. His right hand comes away smeared with black, the eye that the Outsider was using now constantly leaked the ichor. "If that is what you tell yourself." the man mutters as he leans back and closes his eyes for a moment. With his hands he quickly signs the words 'He panicked.' He doesn't think the Outsider would like this to be revealed.

"Father what makes you believe this is not some farce. A play. He is known to be unpredictable and bored." Emily looks concerned but also understanding.

All Corvo can do in response is shrug. "Do you really think questioning my loyalty would be entertaining?"

For a long moment, Emily is quiet until she lets out a soft laugh. "No." she answers, "No you are loyal to a fault."

 _"What did she say?"_ the Outsider asks, curiosity overriding his sullen silence.

"That I am too loyal for my own good." Corvo answers and catches the corner of Emily's mouth twitch.

 _"You are."_ is all the god gives as a response, but he sounds pleased.


	2. A collection of Murders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo gets visited by friends.

_"And now?"_ the Outsider asks curiously into the short silence that had overtaken them and the room, just after Emily had left. It was dark and quiet, the moon had risen quite a while ago and the fire was all embers now, releasing heat slow and evenly into the room, filling it with a heavy orange glow and stark, dark shadows.

"I would like my eye, ear and voice back, for now. It feels wrong." Corvo sighs wearily and reaches for the decanter of spiced tyvian whiskey and a glass from his desk before he sits down again.

_"You should try to get used to it. You will loose them eventually."_ the Outsider responds with confidence, but sight and hearing return to Corvo either way. Apparently, the god has no choices in the matter. The 'deal' that had been made does not grant him the rights to Corvo's body and therefore senses. Only when they are allowed to him does he have access, making them useless to Corvo in turn.

"Did you see that too?"

_"It is but one of many possibilities. You are more likely to slip off a roof or into an unexpected blade than to age to that point, but it is possible."_

Corvo sips from the cool glass in his hands, savours the familiar burn of alcohol and spices on his tongue and down his throat.

Sitting next to the slow heat of the fireplace, head and joints feeling sore, mind busy but seemingly not thinking at all, able to feel the next mornings bruises under his eyes with how dry they feel now, Corvo realises that he already feels old. He is forty-three, Emily is fifteen, and for five years now he has served as Royal Protector, Adviser, unofficial Regent of the Empire and Father to it's Empress all at once. He was only ever meant to be one of these.

For now though, he was none of these things. After listening to the short recollection of events, not making further mentions of the Outsider's loss of composure, and having the god fill in as much as he himself knew, Emily had quickly made her decision even before a plan of action had been made by them.  
She had given Corvo leave for the next two weeks, to allow him time and freedom to investigate the matter. She did not like the idea of people trying to harness the god of the Void, regardless of intentions.

Officially Corvo would be on a mission for the crown, to avoid questions on why he was not there to fulfil his duty as the protector. In his place, they were going to put four other guards. Not picked by seniority, but chosen today by Corvo and Emily themselves for their quick thinking, flexibility in and out battle, and their calm tempers and reliability. They would be paired off in shifts, as, unlike Corvo, the guard's men and women had contracts limiting their hours of work. Corvo had never paid it much mind, he had done his job for years and free time had become an unattainable luxury he did not know enough to miss anymore. Emily though only now seemed to realise it and seemed appalled at her own ignorance.

Apparently Corvo will have to get himself a hobby after the issue with the Outsider has been settled, as Emily had stubbornly refused to leave him without free time in the future.  
He isn't sure where she imagines he will take this time from.

_"Corvo."_

He sighs and bends forwards to pulls his boots off of his feet, nervous energy that wasn't his seemed to be thrumming through him. "What is it?"

_"I thought you had fallen asleep."_ the Outsider mutters, sounding displeased. Ever since Corvo had lent his voice to him so that he may speak to Emily directly, he can't help but notice the odd accent of the Outsider's speech. He had never noticed it before, but now it was impossible not to make it out. An odd husky flatness that Corvo perhaps would have attributed to the emptiness of the Void or a lack of emotion, but now he understands that it sounds more like the accent of someone not entirely used to a language.

"You should try to get used to it." Corvo parrots the gods earlier words, "I will have to sleep eventually."

The silence that follows seems distinctly unimpressed, and only then does Corvo hear a faint 'caw' through his window. "Oh," he sighs, "I forgot."

Patting his chest to ensure the presence of the only bone charm Corvo wears on his person at all times, he grabs a small canvas bag from his desk and walks over to the window the noise had come from. When he opens it a crow caws at him accusingly, and well over a dozen other crows, ravens and jackdaws join in, some sitting on the ledge just before him, some sitting at the corner of the roof a few meters above.

"Yes, yes." Corvo soothes and climbs out of the window onto the wide ledge. The stone is cold on his bare feet, but he does not mind. Some of the birds take off and move to the top of the roof, while other's still watch him expectantly.

He raises his hand, shift his fingers in and out of a fist, it still feels colder than normal, but he can feel the magic answer easily. He looks up at the line of birds staring back at him and picks one at random. He points at it first, turns his hand and forms a half fist, feels the void answer and flow through his mark as it directs itself at the bird. By now the birds left and right form the one chosen are backing away, singling it out. They are used to the process by now, they appear to know it doesn't harm them.

The chosen bird doesn't struggle when Corvo latches onto it with magic, intends to possess it, take its body, maybe fly a circle around the tower before he will feed them, so he gives in, readies himself for the pull of possession.

What instead happens, is that the magic appears to bounce back from the bird, shoots back into his hand, up his arm and back. A moment later Corvo feels himself slip, feels himself fall, the night looks brighter, colours are off, wind pulls at him and in the last meters away from the ground Corvo spreads his wings and tail feathers to break his fall, swoops back up with just a couple beats of his wings. _His_ wings, this is no possession, he realises quickly with the lack of resistance. He is a bird, a raven, just like the bird he'd meant to possess.

Corvo quickly rises even with the roof of the tower, most of the corvids now in the air, perhaps they were startled by the change in routine but they are quickly pulling up beside him, watching him. Flying like this feels almost effortless compared to a possession. It feels like he could do this forever.

Instead he lands on the roof, the same place he usually sits, and does the same mental motion as he always does to end a possession. His bare feet are on the cold roof, the wind pulls at his clothes instead of feathers, and the birds around him caw excitedly.

"Are you aware that the mark changed?" he asks out loud while sitting down cross-legged. He pulls out a small knife and sets the canvas bag full of grapes he'd grabbed earlier onto his lap.

_"Changed?"_ the Outsider inquires, sounding oddly distracted.

Corvo hums in confirmation as he quarters the first grape and gives the pieces to the birds now crowding around him eager for treats, a number of them are sitting on his knees, thighs and shoulders. It had taken weeks for them to stop shying away from him, and even longer until they stopped fighting over the food. He made an effort to bring enough as that each of them would get some.

"Instead of possessing a bird I turned into one," he answers. A jackdaw pulls at his hair and Corvo gently swats at it.

_"Strange."_ he admits, _" But then perhaps it isn't. The marks draw power from me, channelled through the Void. It acts as a conductor but consumes much of it itself. Now, you appear to draw power from me directly, I could feel you using it, more so than usual."_

"So the magic normally drawn already compensates for what the Void takes, and now I take significantly more than is actually needed?"

_"Yes. Although I wonder..."_ the Outsider's words drift off distractedly.

"If you aren't connected to the Void anymore, which was the purpose of this... arrangement, will your other marked loose their abilities?"

_"That would be the logical assumption. I haven't felt any of them using it since earlier tonight. Someone is always picking away on me, especially those with Arcane Bonds."_

Corvo froze for a moment, stopped cutting at a grape, until one of the birds impatiently nibbled at his knuckles, "Pick away at you? Does it harm you? Hurt you?"

_"Oh my dear Corvo,"_ the Outsider sighs amusedly, _"if I told you it did, would you stop using it?"_

Corvo frowns. "At the very least I would keep it for emergencies, instead of using it for my own entertainment. Apologies."

_"There is nothing to apologise for, it does not hurt nor harm me. It feels more like a prod for attention, nothing more. Do keep playing with your birds, it is quite sweet. You know, for a moment I could see through you, hear and feel."_

"While I was a bird?"

_"Yes. It was nice. I assume it is because you use part of me to change your shape I am allowed to share its senses."_

Corvo only hums in response and keeps feeding the birds. His hands ware sticky with grape juice by now, and the birds have lost their impatience and some even wandered off to groom themselves a short distance away. He is reasonably sure that the raven on his shoulder whose claws he can feel prick against his skin is dozing. Corvo likes this part of the evening best, when they are full and content, mostly silent and undemanding company. He supposes this is why people have pets. Though the thought of owning something that completely depends on him for food, affection and freedom is disturbing. He likes it better like this. It's their choice to be here.

What bothers Corvo more is that he is essentially the Outsider's prison, one that even deprives him of his senses leaving Corvo's voice his only tether to the outside.

"How far out would one have to fly to find a whale, you think?" Corvo asks once even the last crow had decided it had enough, leaving a few grapes for Corvo to eat himself.

_"Not far,"_ the Outsider answers easily, _"perhaps two hours. They were hunting a giant squid, trying to force it to the shallows by the western coastline."_

Corvo hums again, frowning, "Another time then."

_"Why would you-"_ the Outsider starts, but stops himself with a soft _"Oh"_ of realisation.

Corvo can feel his own heart beating faster for a moment, he is not sure how the Outsider's emotions, not always readable for him, could possibly influence him, but they do. He is sure this time it is not from fear though. It feels oddly rewarding to pleasantly surprise a god.

He gently gets the remaining birds off of him before he stands up, much to their displeasure. The raven on his shoulder complains the most, and Corvo has to actually grab it and set it on the ground. It is, without doubt, the most trusting of the crowd, though it is also the bird with whom Corvo's habit of feeding them had started in the first place.

With the raven still complaining at Corvo from the floor, he stretches out his left hand in half a fist, this time not aiming for any of the birds. He wants to know if he can change freely, wants to at least try.

Magic comes to him as easily as before, concentrates in his hand and once again shoots up along his bones. The process seems to take longer, but by the time the pain in his back becomes noticeable he is already a bird sitting on the roof, wings half splayed across the floor as not to fall over. All the birds around him are staring at him.

_"Well that was just undignified,"_ the Outsider comments with laughter in his voice, _"You used enough magic to spend the next two months like this, if you felt inclined to do so."_

For now Corvo still blinks at his surroundings somewhat disoriented. Shifting by itself was a lot more... complex than just copying a form, it appears. He didn't even notice the raven stalking up to him, until the bird starts plucking at Corvo's feathers. 

Smacking the raven in the face with a wing full of primaries seems to impress the raven very little, and when Corvo turns to face it he realises why. He is much, much smaller. Probably half the raven's size, he is _tiny_ and the majority of his feathers a twisted mess pulling at his skin, and how did this happen?!

The raven starts plucking at his feathers again, but this time Corvo holds carefully still, even when the hair-pulling jackdaw from earlier shows up to participate with the... grooming. It's about the same size as him.

_"We are still a raven though,"_ the Outsider provides helpfully, _"If you were wondering. Just a very small one. You didn't get the color vision right either."_

He holds still for a while longer. The sensation of beaks straightening out feathers is strangely pleasant, even if they are making noises at him that remind him of disgruntled parents cleaning up messy children. But it is still a bit too much like being touched, something Corvo is not entirely comfortable with, and as soon as his wings' feathers look orderly he shakes them off. 

Hopping away from the two birds Corvo experimentally flaps his wings and moves his tail, everything seems to work fine despite it's miniaturised size, and he is glad for the cumulative hours he has spent flying with an already present muscle memory that seems to have burnt itself into his own mind. After a small circle gliding close to the roof and double-checking that everything is in working order, he lets out a triumphant caw and takes off for the sky. A few of the birds follow him, perhaps out of curiosity. Perhaps out solidarity.

The Outsider and his temper grow quiet, and the flight clears Corvo's thoughts. There is a reason he does this every other night. And if it helps the god to be calm, to see hear and feel, then that is good. It may be all Corvo has to offer for now, but should this situation last longer, he will seek out a break for them in the ocean. He could allow the Outsider control over the body, as he is sure the whale god will know better how to whale than Corvo himself. 

He does not want to be a prison, so he will not be it's keeper. 

If nothing else, he has this, however temporary.


	3. Right Under Your Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter I guess? Next one will be more interesting, promise.
> 
> I now actually have a rough outline of the story and what will happen, so this may be a more accurate chapter guess now! Might grow, but is very unlikely to get less.

Corvo wakes up with a thrashing feeling in his head and a yell that rings through his mind as well as his ears.

For all but a moment his body doesn't move, frozen in time with fear, until he gasps for breath but finds his lungs full and burning already.

Corvo starts coughing before he even realises what is going on, and as he pulls himself over the edge of his bed there is cold, icy water splashing onto the stone floor, burning in his sinuses, in his throat, in his lungs. His muscles are shaking as his body gives another heave before he can settle down, hands clenched around the dark wood of his bed frame, drawing in deep, desperate breaths.

 _"Corvo?"_ the Outsider's voice rings in his head, quiet, careful, but demanding.

"Outsider." he rasps, his throat hurts and he tastes bile and brine on his tongue.

 _"You were gone."_ the Outsider informs him quietly, and if this was anyone else Corvo would think he sounds frightened, _"Just for a second. Not dead, but gone."_

Corvo slowly gets out of bed, careful not to step into the puddle he had just made and aims for the bathroom. Fueled and twitchy with the adrenaline of waking up _drowning_ he can hardly even feel his joints usual morning protest.

"I don't know if you could tell but I apparently almost drowned in my sleep."

_"Drowned?!"_

Kneeling down Corvo wipes the stone floor with an old towel until it is as clean and dry and it's going to get. He will let the cleaners decide if it's good enough. A strange piece of new gossip for them.

"I dreamed of the Void." he throws the towel into a hamper, together with the rest of his sweaty nightclothes we is wearing. "But it was different than when you take me there. Colder, darker, heavier. It was like it tried to drag me down further." he hesitates, "I don't think I was alone."

The Outsider remained quiet for a long while, long enough for Corvo to get dressed in simple wide pants and shirt, to roll out an old hemp mat on the floor and get warmed up for his usual morning exercises.

 _"The Void,"_ he starts hesitantly, _"in a way, may mirror the depth of the sea. Where no light will ever penetrate, and water is so heavy under its own weight that no human could hope to survive."_

Corvo let's out a controlled breath, grunts as a tendon pulls tighter than supposed to when he shifts position. "You think it was more than a dream this time."

_"You have dreamed of the Void before?"_

"Yes," Corvo confirms while carefully exhaling, half of the exercise is breathing properly.

He'd normally prefer to do this in peace, but he has learned not to lose his focus or balance. When Emily was little she seemed to think it was a great idea to use him as a climbing frame while he was trying to balance on one hand. These days he talks her through the exercises twice a week before breakfast.

It is almost ten minutes later when he notices the Outsiders continued silence as if he was expected to say more.

"The Void is an impressive- imposing place to be. Though something is always wrong, I would not mistake a dream for the real thing."

 _"It is possible that-"_ the Outsider starts, sounding disgruntled, but stops when Corvo slowly releases the pose he had been holding, letting out a groan of effort. _"Are you giving in to carnal urges while we are having a serious discussion? Really?"_

For a startled moment, Corvo is quiet until he realises what he must sound like to the Outsider, without having any other clues, and lets out a laugh. "No." he slowly gets into position for the next form, "I am exercising."

 _"I am sure you are."_ the Outsider mutters doubtfully, making Corvo laugh more and almost lose his balance as he lifts his legs into the air, his weight being held on his forearms alone, back bent.

"Look for yourself," Corvo replies easily, unaffected by the immediate loss of sight on one eye. The black 'tears' are still strange though. He turns his head to face the large mirror on the other side of the room, showing his entire body. It made it much easier to correct his form.

It is the first time that he sees his face with one eye black and can feel goosebumps raise the hair on his neck. It looks so _very_ wrong.

 _"I had no idea you were capable of doing that. I have seen people do it, mind, but they were usually gifted with particularly flexible joints."_ the Outsider commented, sounding impressed. _"Does it hurt?"_

"When injured or if I don't warm up properly then yes. I have been doing these forms all my life, learned them from my mother when I was little, as she did from hers. Also taught me to dance."

_"She is the reason you're a swordsman."_

"No, but she is the reason I am exceptionally good at it. Always said that 'if you know your body then it's one thing less to worry about in a fight'."

_"A smart woman."_

"She was," Corvo confirms quietly. He shifts again, not looking away from the mirror, slowly presses himself into a handstand, to a bridge until he can distribute his weight onto his feet and he stands up straight again.

His body sweats, his mind is clear, and Corvo realises that he has no tasks or persons he needs to immediately attend to. For once he can take a long, hot bath in the morning.

"My eye, if you please. I won't have you watch me wash."

\- - -

"No," Corvo states firmly. He is sitting on the roof once again, this time without any of the birds surrounding him. It is cold, much colder than yesterday, but he is fully dressed this time and it bothers him very little. "Absolutely not."

_"Why not? You can hardly inquire at your usual sources about heretics trying to harness The Outsider."_

"Of course not." he sighs, "But there is no way I'll employ the likes of him before I haven't run out of options myself. You can't expect me to just-" Corvo stops himself, remembering who he is talking to as he can feel an uncomfortable shift around his mind. Not quite a headache, but like a balled up eel writhing where it's trapped in your hands, just slower, sharper, more powerful. A knifes edge scraping over your skin without cutting it.

They sit in silence for several minutes while Corvo watches the last of the sunrise. He hadn't realised until after his bath that apparently he had woken up just past four o'clock in the morning.

"If I don't find any leads at all by the end of the week I will consider it." Corvo gives in, "If you are so convinced he'll be able, or even willing to help."

 _"Good."_ the Outsider responds, sounding satisfied with the compromise, _"He'll help. He and his have grown used to the Mark, however much they'd protest such a statement."_

"Well, I can't fault them. Your gifts are very useful." Corvo admits as he clenches and un-clenches his left hand, aims to blink just a meter in front of himself. The Magic overshoots wildly and just so drops him a dozen meters further, with the tips of his boots hanging over the edge of the roof. "So long they work as one is used to." He adds with a sigh.

 _"Try not to grab a fist full."_ the Outsider offers thoughtfully, as Corvo simply stares over the edge, watching the Gardener below prepare the last plants against the coming frost, _"You don't have to defend it from the Void or drag it a long way. Try just a pinch, it's right there. I'm right here, under your skin."_

An involuntary shudder goes through Corvo and he can feel goosebumps raise on his flesh. That statement sounds far too ominous for his taste, however much it may be the truth.

Corvo turns away from the edge and looks down at his hand. The left one, with the Mark covered by supple, grey leather gloves. He clenches a fist, feels the magic answer easily and immediately. It does feel somewhat different, Corvo thinks, although only noticeable if he focuses on that alone, not something he could tell while climbing rooftops. He releases the tension and lets it go again.

He flexes his hand through the forms that his abilities heed, feels magic shift under his skin, in his bones, sitting heavy in his chest as if aching to be used, to be shaped.

Corvo curls his fingers, a motion like the beginning of a fist, but instead rubs his thumb over the side of his index finger, like he is appraising the grain of paper or a fabric's texture. Magic answers immediately, he feels the drag of blink pulling him through space and he finds himself just a few steps further from his original position.

 _"Corvo, Corvo. Only you could translate a 'pinch' into a caress, honestly. And I am once again left to be impressed by how quickly you take to magic and it's whims. Are you sure you were not meant to be a witch after all? Your rituals would be astounding if your carvings are anything to go by."_ the Outsider's voice huffs a gentle laugh, and Corvo can feel him shift again. _"Even the fastest learner or most magically experienced never quite managed to use my gifts as effortlessly as you."_

To Corvo's embarrassment can feel his face go warm with the Outsider's words. It had always been an endless source of amusement to Jessamine, how simple, genuine praise of his skills could make him, a grown man, so flustered.

Instead of deigning the Outsiders words or opinions with any kind of reply, he returns to his room and focuses on collecting the equipment and information he will need today. Laying out ammunition, stun-mines, crossbow and remedies on his desk before carefully retrieving all old and new maps and blueprints from the royal archives. Studies notes, letters, plans and schedules of the Abbey and it's Dunwall headquarter he has been collecting over the past years.

If they have anything to do with this, then he will find or hear something about it in Holger Square.

He has done this once already, and with all the information he has at hand this time it just might be easier.


	4. Their shining coats and fat bodies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo breaks into the Abbey, and that's where the week's agenda get's thrown over for unexpected reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super long update!!! This chapter is almost 4k (but please god dont expect me to always make that long chapters hahaha). Also yes, the chapter count is totally continuously going up because I have no self control and realistic ideas how i pace my chapters. just consider it.... an idea... or guideline. Ish. Thing. :D
> 
> warnings for off screen torture

Corvo isn't sure if he should be concerned or grateful for how well things are going.

He is currently perching on top of the Abbey's main building, the last hues of the sunset behind him, and as of yet not a single overseer had been alerted. So far, so good. _Too_ good if his gut feeling had any say in it.

The Outsider had been blessedly silent the past thirty or so minutes, unlike most of the day while Corvo was trying to familiarize himself with all of the abbeys ins and outs. All possible escapes, bottlenecks, traps and dead ends, especially while keeping in mind music boxes, frost, and possible backfiring from the Mark, however unintended. By now Corvo isn't even sure anymore what the strange God had been going on about, something about the quarry the stones that the Abbey had been built of.

Just below Corvo is an open window he had spotted during his approach, leading straight past the interrogation chamber to the archives and the High Overseer's office. It was suspiciously convenient for his intentions, but Corvo is not one to inspect the teeth of a gifted horse, instead, he'll be suitably cautious of them. Either way, if the abbey was officially involved in the hunt on the Outsider, then the office within the archive was undoubtedly the best place to start.

Corvo slowly approaches the edge of the roof, looks down at the plaza below where there are several overseer guards and two hounds pacing along their set routes. Everything is going as expected, no one looks up, the biting cold wind blows into his face past the gaps by the mask's eyes, and therefore his smell away from the hounds.

Completely undetected Corvo slips onto the wide ledge just below the open window.

With a gentle gesture at his eyes, the void-vision kicks in, different than before even though he has used as little magic as he knew how to. Colors appear barely washed out to his eyes and if he didn't know better he would think it was the dim light causing it, but that is where subtlety stops. He can see every turn, door and wall around him and behind those, as is he had a careful rendering of blueprints layer by layer visualized, interspersed with golden glowing figures following golden trails, and far too many objects of varying shades calling for his attention.

He can hear the hum of bone charms not far from him and indistinct voices asking questions boredly.

Corvo places his hands on the windowsill, ready to lift himself through the opening and blink onto a chandelier just above when a scream rings through the air. He freezes for a moment, recognizing the sound as agony. How could he not when he still woke up some nights with the tortured screams of fellow inmates ringing through his head, with him having been part of Coldridge's cruel choir.

The interrogation room is occupied.

Shaking his head Corvo pulls himself over the ledge, and with the barest amount of magic, he blinks onto the chandelier. He is once again glad that freely hanging lights had gone out of fashion decades ago and that everyone who thinks themselves to be someone, now only ever had those fixed to the ceiling by solid rods of metal or wood.

Another scream rings through the air, sending shivers down Corvos back, making the hairs on his body stand up. The voice that follows moments later, hoarse and begging, is young. Much too young.

'Later,' Corvo tells himself. He will investigate later, for now, he has to do what he came here for, and if he either has the information he wants or is unable to find any, then he can go and- Then he can go and have a look.

With just another brush of his fingers Corvo blinks to the opening above the door of the archives, only one person is in, the high Overseer at his desk, with his back turned to Corvo and scratching notes into a book. There are no golden paths leading in or out of the office. No one is expected to walk here anytime soon.

Careful aiming and a faint clicking noise later the High Overseer's head lolls down onto the desk surface, for all intents and purposes looking like he fell asleep during his work. Corvo walks over quietly, removes the incriminating sleep dart from the mans back, and begins his search, careful to put everything back exactly as it had been found.

\- - -

Corvo stops himself in just the last moment from slamming a drawer shut.  
He can't find anything, and his ears are involuntarily tuned to listening for every sound of suffering that carries through the air, making his skin crawl and his gut clench.

"You have any ideas for where else to look?" He whispers quietly into the felt of his mask, scanning the office one more time. He hadn't found anything in the desk or it's secret compartments, at least not those he had been able to find, and his void sight revealed that the vast majority of documents in the shelves are of no interest.

_"This one too carries a book. And there is a compartment in the chair."_ the Outsider responds, sounding tense and unhappy. _"There are music boxes near. I can almost hear them."_

Corvo carefully listens but he cannot make anything out, instead, he begins rifling through the high overseer's pockets for the book. He's already checked the chair.

The small, red, leather-bound notebook makes its way into Corvo's own pockets, this one isn't even encoded, if one ignored the horrid handwriting. Skimming through it he did not see anything regarding the Outsider, but instead about a number of other people Corvo had been investigating lately. Only a handful of the very last pages were blank. He is sure that he'll find plenty interesting things in there for another day.

He scans the room one last time with The Sight before he blinks away.

\---

Corvo is not sure what he expected when he looked into the interrogation room, but it was not to find a woman in her thirties and a boy, maybe twelve. The later in the interrogation chair, stripped from the waist up, crying from pain, welts, cuts and burns all over. There is blood welling on his skin where it hadn't been washed away by cold water when they had hosed him down just minutes ago. The woman, in turn, is shackled and hanging from her chains on a meat-hook from the ceiling, barely able to touch the ground with the toes of her boots so she is forced to hold her own weight on cramping muscles or bleeding wrists. Her face is stony, her eyes fixed on the boy.

An Overseer is standing by the tray of tools, face hidden as per usual behind their golden masks but body language looking much too excited for Corvo's taste. There is a second one in the observing room above, standing behind the bars by an audiograph recorder, commenting the heretics' condition.

Only when he surveys the rest of the room, now that he has established possible threats, does he notice that there are Whalers masks and gloves lying by the captive's feet, carelessly thrown onto the ground by one of the Overseers present, no doubt.

Corvo sets his crossbow, aims and fires before he quite realises that he has made up his mind. Whalers or no, we won't stand for this, has heard enough. He knows that if he'd just wait longer, an hour or two perhaps, the prisoners would be left for the night, but he can't just sit here and- He cant.

The woman's head snap up to his crouched form in the window above the door, long before either of the Overseers even hit the ground. Her eyes are wide and he can see relief in her expression for a moment, _just_ a moment, before she must recognise him as neither Daud nor a fellow Whaler, and her face shuts down again. Only a glare is spared for him now, he is not sure if it is truly meant for him, or the fickle, cruel thing that is hope.

Corvo blinks across the space of the interrogation chamber to the observing room, means to land in it but misjudges the distance and barely manages to catch himself on the metal bars that separate the two. He pulls himself up and over, lands silently and clicks off the audiograph recorder, pocketing the strip of thick paper, as well as the sleeping dart he'd used.

The only other things he takes from the desk in front of him are the Whalers bone charms that had been singing in his ears from among their bullets, bolts and weapons (as if begging to be picked up, to be used), and a ring of keys. But just when Corvo is about to turn away does he notice the glint of a ring, a simple, polished golden band.

_She misses him so much._ The Heart whispers. _It was meant to be his, one day._

She only whispers to him anymore, sounding tired, but still finding a kind voice to point out the hearts of strangers to Corvo. He picks up the ring and carefully deposits it into one of his inner vest pockets. One that closes tight. This is not something to be lost.

"Thank you," he murmurs in return, pressing his hand to his chest where She continues slowly beating against his ribs.

Corvo quickly returns to the interrogation chamber, his boots make quiet splashing sounds as he walks through the puddles in the interrogation room. The boy's coat and shirt were lying on the drain. Corvo goes straight for the woman as she is carefully observing him, while the boy has his eyes clenched shut and teeth gritted, still bracing for pain, or stillriding it out.

"Where are you based now?" Corvo asks, quick and quiet as he compared the keys shapes he picked up, with the keyholes on her manacles.

"Why would I tell _you_ of all people." she hisses back, trying to lean away from him, "Why would you even come for us."

Corvo shakes his head, "Didn't come for you." he steps closer into her space, "Need to get you off the hook, sorry."

For a moment she looks confused, struggling when Corvo steps between her legs, pressing the side of his hip against her and loops an arm around her bottom while slightly couched. She freezes when he pushes up, lifting her weight onto his hip as if a child, a very heavy child, while reaching up with his free hand to get the chain free. If she was any taller than 'surprisingly short' or he any less long-limbed this would not work, but thankfully the chain comes free, and as her shoulders and elbows bend Corvo get's an earful of hissed profanity.

He takes care to keep her arms elevated for the few staggering steps he takes to the side, lying her down close to a wall opposite the drains where there was still a dry spot, and where she may lean against something once she is up. "Move slowly or you'll damage your joints."

"Hurts like a bitch," she grunts in return.

"I know," he confirms, because he does. Except no one had warned him to move slowly and he can sometimes still feel a strange pull in his shoulder, so many years later.

The first of the three possible keys is the one to open her manacles, and Corvo leaves her lying on the floor to figure herself out, and instead approaches the boy.

"Kid," he says, taps the side of the chair with his boot to get his attention, "we're leaving."

The boy looks up, but Corvo can tell that he's not really looking _at_ him. Instead of getting any more of his attention, he quickly goes about unlocking the shackles, doing his best to touch the child as little as possible while doing so.

He isn't sure how it happens, or what he did, but seconds after the boy is freed, Corvo must have done something, some kind of motion that triggers a response. One moment Corvo is about to turn to the woman and check on her progress, and the next pain slams into the right side of his face, the mask cutting into his cheekbone and eye-socket. The following seconds are more of a blur of muscle memory and intuition than consciously planned motions, as the child fights him with the uncontrolled, too strong flailing of a rabid wolfhound, and only when Corvo jams a sleeping dart into the meat of the boy's thigh does he show any signs of slowing down.

"What the hell." the woman hisses, standing up now, and Corvo turns back to her with a flinch. He has forgotten she was here.

He really, really needs to get out of here, out of this room, it's doing things to his head. He normally does not lose control like that.

Corvo shrugs out of his thin overcoat, made of black oiled leather, meant to keep the rain and wind away from him, not warmth. That is the job of the thick woolen vest he wears underneath, now exposed.

"What are you doing?" she asks confused for a moment, until he lays the coat out on a dry spot on the floor and carefully lifts the child onto it. The boy may be tall and lanky but is none the less small enough to swim in Corvo's coat when Corvo buttons it up securely around him. She watches him critically as she goes to pick up her mask and gloves.

"I'll carry him," she offers when Corvo ties the sleeves together and she apparently realised what he is doing.

"No," Corvo replies as he carefully sits the unconscious body up, and loops the sleeves over his head and one shoulder, "I'm in better shape."

She only lets out a grunt in response and watches Corvo critically as he stands back up with the boy on his back. Instead of protesting she helps him get the long flaps of the coat underneath the boy's seat and under his thighs so that Corvo can tie them up around his hips, finishing the makeshift harness.

When Corvo stands up straight and carefully lets his right arm relax where it was holing the brunt of the boy's weight, the leather creaks dangerously but seems to hold. Good enough for now, he decides, pulling the hood of his coat over the boys head that is now leaning against Corvo's shoulder, slowly soaking through his clothing. Motioning with his head to the door the Whaler follows him without protest, but a noticeable limp, pulling on her mask on the way.

As he returns the void vision to his eyes Corvo notices the High Overseer in the other room shift slightly as if waking up, but no one else is around and so he hurries them towards the open window he had entered through what feels like less than half an hour ago.

The freezing wind cuts through his clothes immediately, worst where his trousers knees were soaked, and Corvo knows they have limited time before he or the boy will get sick. The woman should be fine, she is still dry and has her entire Whaler's uniform, though she is probably running on fumes.

"Watch, two-o-clock," she says once they are out on the ledge and away from the window, Corvo had already been calculating the distance between them and the opposite rooftops. A blink he would never be able to do under normal circumstances, but now?

He spots the Overseer she meant on the opposite end of the square, he is looking up, scanning the windows or rooftops, not yet looking straight at them but just about to.

Quickly he stretches out his hand, palm up, Mark glowing bright as he curls his fingers, motions to rise, but only when he can feel the magic surge through him, hear their chittering just before the rats appear does he realise his mistake. He used too much, far too much for just one swarm or even two.

It takes seconds longer than normal, but rats start pouring into the square, out of the shadows the gutters the stonework, not a dozen, but hundreds, their shining coats and fat bodies rushing like a wave for anything living they can see or smell or hear. An Overseer tries to escape by climbing up crates but they follow. The hounds, turn tail and run, they follow. Other men did not even get a chance to try before the rats simply overran them, screams barely audible in the cacophony of squeaks and squeals.

"-fuck. What the _fuck_?!"

"Hold onto my arm." Corvo orders, before she can get any more freaked out or lose balance, pressed against the wall as she is. Her mask only swings towards him but otherwise, she doesn't move. "Grab my arm and do not let go. We need to leave _now_."

He does not look at her, instead holding his left hand out to the opposite roof a good 50 meters away from them, tries to make out the exact point he wants to land. If he had a spare hand he would simply grab her, but he does not want to risk the boy falling.

Only when Corvo feels two hands clench around his right elbow he lets the magic snap like a rubber band, have it pull them through space. For a full second they didn't move but the noises and movement below slowed down to a molasses trickle, he could feel the Outsider shift in his mind before they reappeared on the other roof, just a meter or two farther than he'd intended. The Whaler next to him makes a gagging sound but leaves a hand clamped on his arm.

"We are not doing that again or I'll throw up on your sodding boots, fuck!"

Corvo turns to her in surprise, it had barely felt different from a normal blink to him. "If we are to get anywhere before the kid freezes to death we'll probably have to. Where are the Whalers?"

"Fuck the Whalers, fuck _Daud_ ," she snarls, spitting on the floor as she rips her mask off of her face, staring at Corvo with an intensity, that he can't quite place, "Why should I go back to him when he abandoned us the second things got unpleasant. _Fuck_ that!"

He frowns, he'd kept an ear out for the Whalers and further researched Daud, but he hadn't gotten much of anything useful about the man himself. Most of what he knows about him, about them, is from the days after the- after he had been poisoned and floated in a boat straight into the Whalers unexpectedly non-lethal arms. It had been too easy to escape, slipping into the rat's bodies that had glimpsed into his 'cell'. After that, he'd spent several hours hovering around the chamber of commerce, reading reports, logs and journals, listening to Daud talk to himself and the Whalers from within the walls. He had vowed not to kill, not anyone, not even the Whalers, or Daud. Yet he had been unable to leave, unable to just turn his back to the possibility, the ease at which he could to it now, from where he was, he wouldn't do it now, but maybe in five minutes, or ten, or when the night falls.

Eventually though, he had seen enough, listened enough, read enough, to know that Daud had done something, stopped witches from attacking Emily, stopped killing altogether. He'd heard some whisper in approval, relieved that they could stop, while others scoffed and said it wouldn't stick. No one seemed to dare call it out as a weakness.

Instead of killing him Corvo had placated himself with watching the assassin lose his calm as Corvo kept stealing things from his office and sad excuse for a bedroom, mostly ammunition for sleep darts and bone charms, a number of runes, while he returned others once he was done with them, like journals and reports. He actually got Daud to curse his name aloud when Daud found the blanket of his bed missing for the night. It had been cathartic to watch the man fray, more so than stabbing him ever could have.

"He abandoned you?" Corvo questioned, "How so, how long were you captured?"

She squints at him, "What's it to you?"

He doesn't answer, simply keeps staring at her, until she shifts uncomfortably, pulling the mask back on now that her stomach had apparently settled from the Blink.

"Got caught us by surprise in the afternoon yesterday, we were just on patrol, easy route, kid's just a novice, just got good enough to be allowed with us. Overseers showed up with their shit-damned racket, nabbed us and here we are."

Corvo frowns behind his mask, "He abandoned you?" he repeats. Endless hours at court had taught him that just repeating a question long enough tends to get you to the actual point eventually.

The Whaler's face swings back to him as she rips off her left glove and shoves the back of her hand and forearm in front of his face, "four fucking hours Attano. Just four."

Corvo squints at the bare skin, "He stopped sharing his Mark?"

She turns away and doesn't speak, but she doesn't need to.

He sighs. Far be it from him to defend Daud of all people, but they need somewhere to go and Corvo is not taking her to the tower, and he'll need to talk to the man eventually. Or well, he has no desire to do so himself, and if the Outsider thinks that Daud will be of help then he can damn well do it himself.  
"I don't think it's his fault." Corvo replies, watching her turn to him, an aggressive energy crackling through her, "He probably doesn't have access to the Mark himself."

"And what makes you say that," she snaps.

"It's the same reason mine is, " he pauses, looking for the right word, "overfed."

There is a short silence between them, "Hundreds of rats is what you call overfed? That wasn't normal right? You can't normally summon rats."

"I can and have, though this many- " Corvo's throat clicks as he swallows. He just killed at least ten men, and if the rats don't disperse then so many more, the last time he killed was during Jessamines- no, the torturer. He suddenly remembers the ring in his vest and shifts the weight of the boy from his right to his left arm, quickly taking it out. "Here, I believe that's yours."

She stares at it for a moment before gingerly picking the gold band up from his palm, as if expecting this to be a trick, but then removes one of her gloves to put it onto her finger.

"Are you sure about Daud?" She asks quietly.

"I don't know him," Corvo replies truthfully, "but I do know how the Mark works."

She sighs, paces to the edge of the roof that points away from the square, looks down, paces back and sighs again. "There are two ships upriver, but we were scheduled to move last night. That's all I have, only those who need to know get told in advance where to go."

He nods, "I know someone who can take us."


	5. "Looking for the rest of them fellows."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!   
> you might have noticed that I've changed the ship tags, from Corvo/Outsider, to Corvo&Outsider, Corvo&Daud, Daud&Outsider. 
> 
> This is cause I honestly am not feeling super shippy with this? It might end up being afterall, I don't know, I don't have an actual proper plan for the character relationships, just the actual plot which moves independently from their relationships. It also just so happens that I've fallen terribly for corvo/daud, much more than I had corvo/outsider before (when i started this fic), the dynamics and characters are just more interesting to me. I might just keep it platonic all around, we'll see! 
> 
> Either way, there is definitely going to be a whole bunch of Corvo & Daud & Outsider interactions, I promise! 
> 
> Sorry for all the back and forth, but this seemed like the most genuine tags I can make, don't want to lead anyone on.

By the time they reach the docks and a familiar shack comes into view, Corvo's limbs are frozen to the bone, and his clothes are soaked by rain that lays itself onto the cobblestones and some roofs as sheet ice, and has plastered his hair to his scalp. His back and shoulder are aching, a dull throbbing pain beats against his temples. His left hand is entirely numb with the void's cold, and it seems to pull up his arm more and more as he uses the mark when he blinks them across the roofs.

They had managed to keep it to short distances that didn't make his entourage too sick, but after just 20 minutes her ankle had become so bad that she could barely put any weight on it anymore, so they had to resort to almost exclusively blinking.

Corvo takes a fortifying breath, clenches his fist once again for, hopefully, the last time this stretch of the way. They land in the dark opening of the shack, and Corvo can only just so make out a shape lying on the mattresses.

"Samuel," he calls carefully, but it startles the man anyway going by how he almost immediately had a gun pointed at him, "It's me."

"Corvo?" Samuel asks confusedly, quickly turning on an old oil lamp that barely illuminated the space, as Corvo leads the Whaler further in and makes her sit on one of the crates.

"I need your help, Samuel. We're looking for two ships on the Wrenhaven, I figured you're the best person to ask." Corvo replies. If he had a hand free to take off the mask he would, but his arms are tired and the boy is heavy so it has to stay for now, even if he knows Samuel dislikes it.

"Let me guess," the old man throws a meaningful look at the exhausted Whaler sitting in his shed, "looking for the rest of them fellows?"

Corvo just nods in response, he is exhausted.

Samuel rubs his eyes and straightens his long, thick coat, a gift from Corvo to keep him warm in the cold months.  
"Of course I'll help you," he gives in, but scowls at the assassin, "though after what they've done, I am surprised you're willing to do the same."

Corvo just gives a laugh that was more of a sigh, "Samuel, I'm the last person that needs to be reminded." He catches the Whaler duck her head, but she doesn't say anything, so he turns back to the old boatman. "I'll have business with him soon anyway, might as well do it now."

Samuel nod, "Come on then," he says and offers the Whaler a hand, who takes it after a moment's hesitation, letting some of her weight lean on Samuel as they walk out to his boat. "I saw them this morning, noticed someone in a whaler's mask on the deck, and they sure are no whaling ships.Always seemed to moor places no one can get on or off all too easy, but not today. It's not far from here."

\---

Corvo is glad that the rain has finally stopped, and to sit and lean the boy's weight onto the floor of the boat with him. Reaching at an awkward angle he can get his ungloved fingers against his neck, but realises too late that his left hand is too numb from the cold to feel for his pulse.

_"His heart beats well."_ the Outsider says, calm and even, but Corvo startles.

"How would you know?" he asks before remembering he is not alone, catches Samuel and the Whaler throwing him an odd look. He tries to shrug it off, but while their guide returns his eyes back to the water, the Whaler keeps staring. Corvo ignores her. It'll come out soon enough anyway.

_"You have used a great deal of magic, and now it is as if I am not under the skin anymore, instead -"_

Corvo watches with an abstract kind of fascination bordering into horror as his left hand moves by itself. The thumb stretching, pinky curling until their very tips meet, and then the movement repeats for ring-, middle- and index-finger, before Corvo clenches them into a fist, stops the movement. Relieved he still has some control. "Stop that." he hisses under his breath, and the Outsider laughs.

_"You are **very** warm."_

"I'm freezing and you know it," Corvo grumbles back, shoving his hand into the pocket of his vest. "How long until we're there?" Corvo calls to Samuel against the gust of ice cold wind.

"Just around the bend, " Samuel answers, looking back at Corvo with a frown, "will you be alright?"

"Don't worry," Corvo responds, "Don't get too close to them, I don't want you to get noticed and caught in the crossfire should something happen."

Samuel nods, and slows down the boat until it's almost noiselessly drifting.

"Will you kill him?" the Whaler asks all of a sudden, her form hunched and gloved hands in fists as if aching for a weapon.

Corvo frowns at her from behind the mask, confused for a moment.

"Will you kill him this time? Because if so then I can't let you."

"No," he answers, "no I won't. I spared him once, I won't go back on that without a good reason. A _new_ good reason. Besides, someone wants to speak to him."

"Daud doesn't make house-calls for just anyone."

"Don't worry, I'm bringing him along," Corvo says, enjoying her faint, confused head tilt.

They all watch together as Samuel completely turns off the motor and the boat is drifting along the bend of the river. Everything is veiled in darkness and even the city seems to have drawn to an early quiet, with the ice covering the buildings in a strange gloss, and frost letting its fingers crawl through the windows and doorways, the stonework and rotting tiles. Lights and lamps taken (or stolen) inside to use their fuel for warmth indoors instead of lighting the streets.

The ships are black looming shapes in the water, simultaneously larger and smaller than what Corvo had expected. Just big enough to be safe sailing along the coast, but not so big as that they'd lose their manoeuvrability on the river.

"I'll take it from here," Corvo announces, heaving himself and the boy on his back up into a standing position with a grunt. He will have to get himself warm soon, or he'll spend the next two weeks sick in bed instead of fixing the Outsiders problems. At least the child is warm against his back, if heavy.

"Daud's office is in the near ship," the Whaler reveals, grabbing Corvo's arm, "there will be guards."

"Do you have an infirmary? That seems more urgent at the moment."

She nods and steps closer, points at the ship, "Do you see the blue light in the doorway? That's the stairs down, would get us there immediately. High ceiling, wide hall, for a boat anyway. If you aim right you can use that as a point, but as I said, it's stairs."

Corvo hold's out his hand as his mark starts glowing, before he remembers himself and turns to Samuel, but the old man just waves him off, "We talk later, you still owe me a drink, after all. Two now."

"Of course, thank you," Corvo responds, focuses back on the ship and he can feel his hand clench into a fist by power other than his own, can feel joy like a grin pressed against the borders of his mind.

He has half a second where time slows down so much it almost stops, for him to correct his footing to properly drop onto the stairs from where they'd landed almost half a meter in the air, and throw his left arm out to stop her from tumbling down head first. She lets out a pained yell as her ankle hits the ground, and immediately Corvo can hear a sword being drawn behind them.

"Intruders!" the Whalers at the top of the stairs yells.

"Stand down Desmond!" the Whaler next to Corvo yells back, "And shut up, get Daud and Zachary to the infirmary, we've got Toby."

"Galia, report!" someone barks from the bottom of the stairs before the Whaler at the top of them can even react, and Corvo has to stop himself from flinching at the voice. It is Daud himself, leaving Corvo now pinned between three assassins on a staircase. He does not like it, not at all. Even with the mark the way it is, Corvo has little doubt that at the moment Daud could overwhelm him in a fight without one of his own. Corvo's body is heavy with exhaustion, his skin feels half numb, and his joints are stiff and painful from the cold, the extra weight and strange angles he needs to maintain to hold the boy up securely. Why it took him seeing Daud, healthy, broad, agile and intimidating, to make Corvo realise in what a terrible condition he himself is right now, perhaps only underlines that fact.

"Sir!" she responds, but falls silent for a moment when Daud's eyes fall on Corvo, his face hardening into a grim expression and resting his hand on his sword, left palm open as if ready to use the mark.

"No hostiles, neither of us is armed or in fighting condition, Toby was interrogated, and my ankle is _something_ but sure as fuck not made for standing. Attano got us out, won't say why only that he has business with you. Also went and drowned Holker Square in rats."

Daud's frown deepens but doesn't comment further to Corvo's relief, he doesn't feel like explaining himself.

"Get down here," Daud barks and turns away from them, calling out orders to others in the room, not visible from the staircase.

Corvo offered Galia, now finally having a name to the face, his left arm one last time. She accepted it after a moments hesitation, probably considering dignity versus pain versus ease, and with a brush of his fingers and a flare of the mark they stood in the room, just beside Daud. Daud, who had his sword half drawn before time even resumes it's pace entirely, but Corvo already chains on the next blink, doesn't notice Galia letting go as he reappears in the first whaler-free space he could make out, backed into a corner at the opposite end of the room. The motion had been more of a supernatural flinch than a genuinely planned action.

Daud throws him what can only be described as a questioning glare, and only when the assassin sheathes the sword again, and none of the Whalers staring at Corvo make a move for their weapons, does he let himself feel the racing of his heart.

There is a cot right next to where Corvo stands so he carefully leans his back against it in a way that he can rest the boy on it, and carefully starts untying the knot around his hips with shaking, numb fingers, slowly lifting the sling of sleeves over his head. He pointedly does not flinch when an unmasked Whaler of ambiguous age appears by his side and helps him lie the boy down.

The man is muttering as he unbuttons the coat and begins assessing the damage done to the child, intermittently giving orders to the two other Whalers who appear to be his assistants. Corvo just steps aside, after they handed him his coat back.

"Attano," Galia calls from her seat on a cot, waiting for her turn, and he barely managed to catch the towel being thrown at him, "if you drip anymore the boat is going to take water."

Corvo allows himself to huff out a laugh at her impudence but can only agree. He may not be dripping anymore, but just the thought of at least getting his hair dry makes him appreciate the gesture immensely.

He knows that most, if not all eyes are on him when he reaches for the leather straps at the back of his head. Everyone, especially Daud, watching him like a curious but wary pack of wolves as he pulls the metal contraption off of his face.

Between Daud's frown which, impossibly, deepens further, and Galia's wince, he must be quite a sight.

"Shit Attano, Toby got you good. I knew it was a hook but that looks grim."

He just shrugs in return and picks up the towel once the mask is firmly attached to his belt, and starts drying his hair, careful to still keep an eye on the people around him, careful not the reopen the cut on his cheek and by his eye. Without boy and mask Corvo feels strangely light and exposed, as if he could fade through the walls, and only now does he come to the sudden realisation that his mind and his body are dissociating from another.

Corvo finishes drying his hair, uses the dampness of the towel to rub half-dried blood from his cheek, chin and neck. He'd need a mirror to properly clean it but the sink is across the room and would put his back to Daud so he decides not to. It can wait a little longer. Instead, he stays where he is leaning against the empty cot, let's his attention drift between the Whalers treating the boy, and the low conversation between Galia and Daud. A more detailed report probably, as he only appears to cut in with what sounds like questions, but Corvo can tell that Daud's attention is still very much on him, and the clear path between them has not escaped Corvo's attention, or that Daud is cutting off escape routes.

Occasionally Daud will wave someone to him from the stairs, give orders Corvo can't make out from where he is sitting, and then they vanish again. That he is not just summoning them as he did years back, is enough to confirm to Corvo that the Mark is not working.

Only now Corvo realises that his left hand has been rubbing the damp towel between its fingers, feeling the texture, he assumes as he stops the motion. The Outsider curls in his mind in an inexplicably displeased manner, so Corvo relents.

"Attano," Daud speaks, suddenly very much closer than he had been seconds ago, and Corvo doesn't manage to hide his alarm, but it goes unacknowledged by Daud, "to my office. I want answers."

Corvo puts down the towel and reluctantly follows Daud up the stairs, along the deck and through another door back into the ship. 

Answers? He wishes he had those, but then, he isn't going to be the one to do the talking.


	6. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...is hard to come by, and not always welcome.

Daud's office is, considering this is on a ship, a large room. Not that it would appear as such, the way it is crammed full of shelves, maps, papers and crates, and also doubles as his bedroom if the hammock full of pillows hanging from the ceiling is anything to go by.

When Daud strides in, grabs the only chair and puts it in front of Corvo, it is obvious enough that the assassin wants to put him into a lower position. Make him sit down, while Daud has the space to pace and loom, but for all that Corvo wants to protest, is about to protest, he also realises that the chair is right next to an old metal wood oven, firelight faintly glowing red past the gaps in the front. He quickly changes his mind and decides that he does not care what kind of 'uncomfortable' positions Daud is putting him into, but he also doesn't want to spend much thought on the possibility of Daud having put the chair in the warmest place of the room on purpose.

Corvo sits down, stretching his marked hand out to hold over the stove and tries not to act surprised when he can't feel the heat on his palm, only from the wrist and upwards.

_"You **were** cold,"_ the Outsider comments fascinated, no doubt the one to feel the warmth, and how long has it been since the Outsider has felt warmth? The way Corvo can watch his own fingers stretch and curl is strange, disorienting, but he supposes this means the Outsider is happy about the sensation.

"I told you so," Corvo replies quietly, not acknowledging Daud's critical stare from where the assassin is leaning with his hip against the desk, once again almost directly cutting off the path to the only door. At least the only door Corvo can see, with all the crates and cases stacked high.

"You told me what?" Daud demands clarification.

Corvo shakes his head. "I have nothing to say to you, " he starts, watching Daud's expression turn stony, "he can do that himself."

Daud got as far as opening his mouth when Corvo lets the Outsider take control save for an eye and an ear, and it is sure to be a strange sight. His body-language changing abruptly, leaning back in the simple wooden chair like it is a throne, elbows on the leans, fingers stapled, one ankle crossed over the knee and Corvo can feel the first drops of ichor running down his cheek.

_"Daud,"_ the Outsider says with Corvo's voice but his own accent, his own inflections, and a serene smile on his face.

Daud stares, dumbstruck for a long moment before he pushes himself away from the desk and snaps out, "Absolutely not. I'll talk to Attano any day over you."

The Outsiders smile widens, _"But he doesn't want to talk to you, and we both know why, of course."_

Daud grits his teeth but steps closer, "What do you want, bastard?"

The Outsider stands up, walks a circle around Daud, looking at him as if appraising the assassin before grabbing Daud's left hand with Corvo's, their marks spark for a moment, but while Corvo's keeps glowing, Daud's flickers out with a sputter and smoke. _"My gift to you,"_ the Outsider comments, digging his thumb into the ink and sinews, _"how does it feel, Daud? To be powerless for the first time after twenty-two years?"_

They stare at each other for a long moment, hateful glare and curious searching, the grin never quite leaving the Outsider's face as he is still holding Daud's wrist, can feel the blood pumping just beneath the skin, so strangely alive and solid and _hot_ as nothing in the Void ever feels.

_"You have accused this mark and me of making you who you are, and yet when it is but ink, all you want is for it to return. To hold my power and let it burn through your blood once again. What would you do, Daud? What would you do to have it back? What would your Whalers do, to hold just a fraction of it once again?"_

Daud twists his wrist out of the Outsiders grasp and grabs the collar of Corvo's vest in both fists, yanks him closer until they are almost chest to chest, "You _will_ leave my men _out_ of this!" he growls.

_"And yet, you are the one who introduced them in the first place, to the power, the heresy. You think you-"_

Daud catches Corvo blink, just before he can give in to the urge of punching the bastard's lights out, and two perfectly normal colored, dark brown eyes stare back at Daud. The smile is gone, the aloof stance has shifted into something defensive, ready to fight, to dodge.

When Corvo raises his hand and presses it against Daud's chest, the assassin lets himself be moved, taking a step back and letting go of Corvo's collar. Corvo can now feel that Daud's hands had been radiating warmth even through the gloves, their absence making his neck feel even colder. They stare at each other, eye to eye and for the first time Corvo realises that he is taller than Daud, not by much, perhaps half a head, but Daud has a presence to him that surreptitiously will fill a room and make him appear larger than life. More than a man. But then, they had also never been this close to each other outside a fight.

Corvo steps away and shakes his head.

"You are terrible at this," Corvo mutters, and Daud grimaces.

"If he would talk-"

"Not _you_ ," Corvo interrupts, "the Outsider at asking for help."

_"I was doing fine, it was going better than usual,"_ the Outsider protests in the secrecy of Corvo's mind.

"Daud," Corvo starts, drops himself back into the chair, relieved to be by the heater again, away from Daud, and ignoring the Outsiders continued commentary for the moment, "let's start this different."

Corvo opens the top buttons of his vest, reaches into one of the many inside pockets and pulls out a tablet made of gold, roughly the size of his hand. He looks at Daud's expression that seems to waver between disbelief and anger, and tosses it at him with an underhand throw.

Daud catches it effortlessly and Corvo can see the assassin judge the weight without even looking at the gold-piece in his hand as their eyes are locked once again. "I will not take your money Attano," he snaps, looks ready to throw it back except Corvo is already tossing him another one.

"They're stolen," Corvo replies as if that was the best argument for Daud taking them, and grabs another one out of his vest, "I'm not going to go and hand it back to the High Overseer anytime soon."

Daud's eyes go wide when Corvo tosses him the fourth tablet, now all lying in Daud's gloved hands.

"What in the void-," he growls, more a sound of consternation than anger by now, as he stares down at what has to be worth about 120-thousand coin in his hands, thrown at him as if it's nothing more than apples.

"Consider it a consultation fee?" Corvo offers, as he turns his chair and leans the soles of his boots against the stove. Daud can't even care about the mud on them right now.

"Attano what the hell, who hands over this much money as if it's nothing, are you out of your mind?!"

Corvo looks at him levelly, and states in the most matter of fact way that he can, "If this was my money, and it had been stolen from me," he pauses for a moment, weighing his words, "I would not notice. It's not my money, I'm the one who stole it because I could, and I'm giving it to you, to buy your service in whichever capacity you can provide it, to assist me in getting the Outsider out of my head and back into the Void, preferably without getting killed in the process, preferably fast."

Daud catches himself gape, closes his mouth as he glances between Corvo and the gold in his hands. It takes him a full 10 seconds, that Corvo waits patiently, until Daud moves to shove a couple boxes aside to reach a safe, locks up the gold, and returns to Corvo with a fold-up chair out of seemingly nowhere.

Daud drops the chair next to Corvo and sits down, "Alright," he starts, straightening his gloves, all his focus on Corvo now, "tell me everything."

Corvo breathes in to reply, start spinning this strange tale in as little words as possible, when he suddenly lets out a sneeze that startles them both.

"On the other hand, perhaps you should probably first get into something dry before you catch death."

Corvo grumbles an agreement. He would give everything to go back to the tower right now and take a hot bath, and he loathes to accept charity from Daud, especially bribed one, but in the end he can't afford getting sick, but if he stays like this for another half an hour he _will_ be. He watches Daud wearily as the assassin moves to the door and speaks to one of the Whalers apparently standing guard outside. Corvo fails to conceal a shudder at the cold draft tearing through the room, but the Whaler returns not even a minute later with a set of clothes and a towel.

"Here," Daud says as he holds out the small stack to Corvo.

Corvo considers his options, he doubts Daud would leave him alone in the office for the sake of privacy, nor will he undress in front of the assassin, unless...

Corvo lifts his hand as if to hide his face, and the world turns grey-scale, and Daud with it where he freezes mid-movement. It doesn't make it any less strange to change before Daud's unseeing eyes.

"How long do we have?" Corvo asks, quickly beginning to strip. He can tell he will have enough time to quickly rub the dampness off of his skin with the towel, he can feel it as if an hourglass was running through the back of his hand. But he had tried not to grab too much, be more gentle, as he had learned to be with his blink as well.

_"I fear I'm not the right person to ask for time estimates as small as this, Corvo,"_ the Outsider admits humorously.

"Fair enough," Corvo replies as he pulls on the worker's trousers, which fit fine, and begins buttoning up the thick cotton shirt that is a bit too tight around his chest and shoulders with the woollen long-sleeve underneath, but Corvo doesn't mind, it'll do for now. He is just grateful that his underwear and socks stayed dry through some sort of miracle.

When Corvo lets time resume, the first thing Daud seems to do is lean back and reach for his sword, but seeing Corvo sit on the same chair as before, only in different clothes, he let out an annoyed sound, like a growl, surveys the room with a quick glance for any changes and sits back down with Corvo.

"So, how did you end up the Outsider's puppet?"

"It's not so much his puppet as his, hmmh, keeper. He can't do anything unless I let him. All we can do is hear each other's voices, not much more."

"Are you telling me that you have him constantly blabbing his cryptic bullshit in your ear?" Daud asks, making little effort to hide his discomfort (disgust?) at the idea of it.

Corvo in return just gives him an unimpressed look, "I'm sure you can imagine little worse if that enlightening _performance_ between the two of you was anything to go by. It makes me wonder why you were the first person he thought of for help."

Corvo looks away, silently admonishing himself for his rudeness. Sure, the assassin deserved every snide remark Corvo (or the Outsider) could possibly think of, but Corvo should simply treat him like any other noble at court whom he'd rather send rats down their collars than have to listen to another word in their snobby nasal voices.

Not that Daud's low sandpaper rasp, outing him as either a heavy smoker or drinker or both, Corvo bets on the first though going by smell alone, is anywhere near as annoying.

Corvo isn't sure what exactly it is, perhaps the way he moves, or speaks, the way he reacts to Corvo, but something in between all that is giving off the impression of Daud feeling contrite and wrong-footed. Perhaps by Corvo's unexpected arrival and actions, and Corvo is reasonably sure that the Outsider's presence and at the same time absence, is only making it worse.

"He came to me looking to hide outside the Void, as someone or something is combing it through trying to find and catch him. He assumes it's to either kill or enslave him. Left it up to me to find out who it is and how to stop them. That is also the reason you are running dry," Corvo lifts his left hand meaningfully, "and I am overflowing."

Daud studies Corvo carefully, absentmindedly patting his chest and reaching into his coat retrieving a metal box of cigarettes, "So he just, what, crawled into your mind? Can he do that with any of us?"

"There was more to it, and he did push, I'm not sure he could have entered my mind without- " Corvo hesitates, looking for the right word, "without breaking something, ripping seams. It's hard to describe what it feels like, but it's not... comfortable."

Daud grunts, clenches the cigarette between his teeth and gratefully accepts the matches Corvo hands him from on top of the box of firewood standing just behind Corvo's chair.

"Can he hear me right now? Or is he just catching your end of the conversation."

"The second." Corvo replies, purposefully cryptic.

"Alright, " Daud acknowledges, but doesn't follow up with anything else to Corvo's surprise. He'd expected some further line of questioning. "That's all we got, I take it?"

Corvo nods, "I was in the High Overseer's office but couldn't find anything at all regarding plans to do with The Outsider. I didn't entirely expect it, but figured it would be as good a place to start as any."

Daud nods, catches a shiver run through Corvo. "We can set up a proper plan tomorrow. I'll have someone with a boat bring you back to the tower."

"There's no need to-"

"You're in shit shape for the roofs Att-"

Corvo stands up abruptly, and Daud's jaw clicks shut. 

Only now does Corvo notice that somewhen during the conversation Daud had relaxed, at least partially, as he now looks like a coiled spring ready to react at the smallest provocation. Disgust at his own ease around Jessamine's murderer suddenly broils in Corvo's gut, startling him with its intensity, and what would _she_ say to that. One way or another, he will not take orders from Daud of all people.

"I will be flying, there is no boat faster than wings. As for tomorrow, I will come find you." 

Corvo grabs for his bundle of clothes, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be gone from the assassin, this room, this boat. "Good evening," he adds, before shutting the door behind him, not waiting for Daud's reply, not wanting to look at him either. The Whaler on deck startles as Corvo strides past them, pushes himself up the railing and then flies off on black wings.

Like this, Dunwall Tower is perhaps ten minutes away and it seems much too close, and far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corvo: I have gold. 
> 
> Daud: No.
> 
> Corvo: I have _a lot_ of gold.
> 
> Daud:   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> \-----
> 
>  
> 
> Regarding currency: I have decided to treat 'Coin' equal to british pounds, as smaller things seem comparably priced. I know that a bar of gold apparently gets you 250(?) coin, but considering that irl equally sized looking bars cost £392000 .... that just didn't seem sensible, so I changed it.


	7. Even Whales need to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dad is tired, Teenager is angry and local assassin has a Bad Morning

The flight home was quick, the bath uneventful, save for nodding off in it, and Corvo found himself asleep almost instantly as his head hit the pillow. 

 

Two hours later he wakes, water in his throat, in his nose and he coughs and coughs and coughs until his chest burns and his ribs ache, even when no more water comes out and he can finally gasp air into his lungs, leaving him with this head spinning and feeling once again strangely detached.

Corvo shoves the clock on his nightstand to an angle that he can see the hands gleaming in the embers, sighs and rolls back onto the covers. What he should do, is go clean up the floor and grab a bucket, but his limbs are heavy and his mind scattered with exhaustion and dissociation.

He had hoped it wouldn't happen again, he had hoped it might just happen before waking up normally. But there is whale-song ringing in his ears, almost louder than the Outsider's voice, and he remembers Nothingness rising around him like water, grasping, demanding and inescapable -

Forcing his eyes open Corvo stares at the faint shadows dancing along the dark ceiling. On one hand, he really does not want to experience this again. On the other hand, he _has_ to sleep. Not sure what to do about it Corvo instead focuses on his breathing and heartbeat for a few minutes, and listens to the slowly fading whale-song.

 _"So it happened again."_ the Outsider states quietly as if worried or unsure, two things that don't sound like him at all, but Crovo supposes with their current situation it may be justified.

"I'm fine," he hums back, "guess I have to cat-nap until this has been sorted."

 _"It will realise and wait for you,"_ the Outsider replies, sounding grave, _"When this happens, when you drown, Corvo, you are gone. Your body, I feel it all as if it was mine. This isn't good. You aren't meant to pass on to the Void yet. Not like this, and especially not alive."_

Corvo sighs, "What else am I supposed to do, I can't stop the _Void_ from doing what it wants when I couldn't even get _you_. to tell me things." 

The Outside is silent for a long moment, and Corvo can feel him shift uncomfortably. _"Perhaps,"_ he starts slowly but then stays silent after all. Feeling, hearing the god so out of sorts is strange. It makes Corvo wonder what it does to the Outsider to be trapped in a body, not just a mind.

 _"The Void has never listened to me and never wanted to."_ the Outsider states with certainty and a heavy undertone of bitterness. _"I was thrust upon it as an unwanted gift, and drowned in its essence, its power, its magic a million times over before I started to be made of it. I don't understand why it would-"_

Corvo tries to suppress his surprise at the Outsiders outburst, instead, trying to separate himself from the Outsider's anxiety that already twists their guts. Trying to wait patiently as the Outsider struggles for words.

 _"Why would it act out. Why would it care now? **Now** , that I am gone, that it is **finally** rid of me after four **thousand** years- that I am closer to freedom than I have ever been- I know- there is no reason to- it doesn't **care** \- miss home- that I am gone- and yet I want- "_ the Outsiders voice seems to split, his thought's scattering all voiced at the same time. Corvo's heart starts hammering in his chest, migraine building up within seconds until tears are spilling down his cheeks before he can quite grasp what is happening or in how much pain he is.

This fear, this panic is worse than before, deeper rooted, not a hectic flittering thing but tar that permeated every crevice and is heavy, cloying, trapping, seemingly inescapable. 

Intuitively he draws the magic, the Outsider to himself, pulling and pulling until his mark burns white like a beacon, his skin becomes pale and numb right up to his elbow. He tries to call for the Outsider, isn't even sure if he is making a sound among the cacophony in his head and somehow, Corvo doesn't remember how he got the idea even, grabs his left hand with his right, holds it against his chest. Cold glowing skin pressed between his sweat-damp nightshirt and warm palm.

Almost instantly the litany stops, and Corvo can feel the Outsiders focus on him as keenly as he would feel the touch of a live wire.

"Breathe with me," he rasps out and draws air into his lungs, starting the usual count in his head. The cool air of the room feels heavy and almost suffocatingly solid or wet in his throat and chest as if he is back in Karnaka during it's hottest season when the wind stands still for days at a time and the humidity hangs between the buildings and the streets as thick as molasses.

Corvo can feel the Outsider try to gasp immediately, trying to breathe much too fast, to hyperventilate, but he doesn't let him, carefully uses the muscles of his ribs and diaphragm to force him to slow down. The ice-cold fingers of his left hand are sliding up around his neck, not grasping or choking, just there. Feeling, perhaps their breath, perhaps their pulse. Corvo doesn't mind. 

_"How?"_ the Outsider asks sometime later when they both had reached a state of easy calm, breathing easy and muscles so relaxed that Corvo already dozed off again.

"Even whales need to breathe," Corvo responds, voice rough with sleep, "only seemed right."

\---

"You look terrible," is the first thing Corvo hears upon entering the small, private dining room where Emily and he usually share their meals and talk freely without servants hovering around them. 

"And a good morning to you too, dear daughter. Why yes, the weather is lovely today." Corvo replies with good-natured snark as he sits down adjacent to her at the table. Her tea is still steaming and her plate clean. He is just in time. 

She smiles at him, "Yes, yes, and you have evidently _not_ looked outside, if it isn't pouring it's hailing."

Corvo sighs and retrieves a fresh roll from a covered basket and goes about spreading on all three kinds of jam that are presented on the table, "Oh I've seen, and heard, and been in it last night. It's miserable and people are freezing, even Samuel finally is wearing the coat." 

Emily takes the jam-laden roll and takes a large bite out of it as she leans back into her chair. Quickly brushing the crumbs off her blue blouse. She will change again either way, as soon as her agenda for the day starts. "Then it really has to be bad. Let me know if he starts sleeping indoors so I can kiss the Empire goodbye."

"Don't speak with your mouth full." Corvo replies automatically but laughs anyway as Emily makes a point of taking another bite and retorting with a severely muffled 'Blah Blah-Blah Blah B _lah_ ' as she waves her hands about, jam roll still in hand. 

He goes about preparing two rolls for himself, with just one kind of jam, thank you, and slowly eats as he listens to Emily retelling her day, complaining about various nobles, and face going red when he gently teases her over her excitement about having received a new letter from Wyman. 

Corvo lets the Outsider have the taste when he moves on to the second roll, not receiving a comment until he washes it all down with strong, black coffee.

Apparently coffee is disgusting. _Very_ disgusting. 

 

"So," Emily starts when they are done eating, only waiting for their schedules to catch up to them, "are you going to tell me why you have a black eye and a cut on your cheek? Or you know, where you were? Did you find anything out?" 

Corvo sighs and puts down his coffee cup. "I got surprised and someone punched me in the face while I was wearing the mask. It is known to happen."

He watches Emily prop up her chin on her hand and raising her eyebrows, and is once again startled by how much she looked like her mother. The face, the hair, the posture, only her clothes seem to be more inspired by his own, which had been picked by Jessamine, preferring blues and greys to Jessamine's blacks and whites. Does she do it purposefully?  
"Go on, people don't just get the jump on you, right?"

Corvo sighs and pours himself another cup of coffee, he would rather not tell her. Not yet, not while they have nothing else to go on, but he can tell from her well-hidden frown that she is worried, so he gives in. 

"I went to the Abbey and looked for evidence. On my way back I noticed that their _interrogation_ chamber was in use, and helped the two Whalers to escape, as one was hurt and the other unconscious." 

Emily stares at him for a long moment, "You mean _The_ Whalers?! You went to Daud? Alone? When no one knew where you were, what were you thinking?! What if he- "

Corvo's palm on her shoulder stops her train of thought but she swats his hand aside and fixes him with an angry glare.  
"He _killed_ mother, Corvo!"

"You do not need to remind me," he snaps back, he doesn't understand how she seems to keep forgetting (ignoring?) that he'd been in the centre of it all.

"Then why did you do that?" she jumps up and he can hear her chair's wooden lean hitting the floor with a loud crack, "You say you don't want to kill him but why would you _help_ him?!"

"Emily," Corvo states firmly, can feel himself capsule off from the situation as he sits in his chair perfectly straight-backed and stone-faced. They've had this discussion, multiple times, at multiple volumes, and each time it ended with Emily upset and Corvo with a migraine. He can't deal with that right now, not when he can feel the Outsiders amused curiosity curling inside his mind pushing to hear. "Sit down."

There is a moment of tense silence until she picks her chair back up and drops herself into it, slouching, and fixing her angry glare at his steaming coffee cup. 

"A fourteen-year-old boy was being tortured by Overseers. Regardless of my position to Daud or the Whalers, I will not stand by and let that happen. I returned him and his supervisor to the Whalers base as there was no other place to take them, and I knew they would get necessary aid there. Do you understand?"

Emily frowns but tips her head into a quick nod. 

"Aside from that, Daud's insight may be invaluable in finding out how to help the Outsider. He has had the mark significantly longer than me and also has an entire workforce and information network under him. He can dig and ask questions where I can't, on account of being the Royal Protector and that if the Abbey finds me a heretic you will have to have me executed." 

Her head swings up to stare at him, "They can't do that!"

"They can, and they would in a heartbeat. We talked about this Emily, and you are taking classes on the Abbey, this is not news." Corvo sighs and takes a sip of his coffee, wraps his hands around the hot cup to ground himself, "Because I helped his men Daud owes me now and it is likely that he still feels guilt over Jessamine. On top of that, he doesn't have access to the Outsider's magic where I have all. Nothing is going to happen to me. What I am more concerned about is the Outsider sitting in my head, and to find a solution for that the fastest way, I will make use of him."

Emily slowly nods and mumbles out a reluctant "Alright." 

\---

_"Not regretting your choices Corvo?"_

Corvo frowns at the Outsider's excited tone. He'd think the god would be glad not to lose one of his marked. Either way, not killing someone isn't something to regret, although even if one does, it is easy to rectify. Unlike regretting to _have_ killed. 

But he doesn't. He doesn't regret leaving Daud alive, avoiding the anger of a headless guild of loyal assassins. Avoiding more blood smeared on his hands. Avoiding further breaking his vow to - 

It is too easy to picture himself in the assassin's place. He remembers the first time he killed (and the second and the third and the-). He remembers being covered in blood, copper on his tongue, in his nose, stinging his eyes, sticking in his hair. He remembers Beatrici looking at him strangely for his calmness, remembers his mothers pale face in stark contrast with the bruise around her eye, the split in her lip, remembers her practically shoving him into their small bathing tub, her hand clamped ice cold on his shoulder, nails digging into his skin before she scrubbed him down. He remembers saying that he can wash himself, but she didn't hear. Or want to hear, he is not sure. His ribs had been hurting where his father had managed to elbow him in surprise. 

He remembers the strange man who had tried to catch him for a few weeks, during the time that Corvo and Beatrici thieved on the streets, not giving up each time Corvo barely escaped. Not until Corvo managed to slice his stolen, narrow cutlass through the man's face, never to be seen again. Not a killing blow, sure, but apparently enough to make him back off.

Much later, during his work for the Duke, he found out about the gang of headhunters and assassins for hire who would catch promising youth's and children, and ruthlessly train them for their purpose. 

He could have become that, just one unlucky moment, just one time his feet may have slipped of the rough brick, just one time he'd wait too long to catch his breath, just one inch he may have given, and he would have been the same. 

Corvo shakes his head as if trying to shake the train of thought, as he sits in his room and maintains his weapons. Carefully cleaning, oiling and checking every blade and mechanism. 

This time he will be better prepared for Daud. Not that he wants to kill the man, but just in case. 

\---

Where yesterday night there had been a simple freezing downpour, the wind had now picked up rattling windows, ripping flags and banners from their ties and forcing guardsmen to duck behind walls and corners. 

Not even Corvo's window that normally is in the wind-shadow of the tower is spared this time as the wind blows into his room, billowing the curtains and trying to rip the papers on the desk from under their weights. Pulling at his hood and hair.

He stretches out his hand, aiming for a spot in the sky so that the wind won't be able to shatter his more fragile self against the tower walls and, before he blinks into the gale, chooses his form, holds the magic close and the shape in his mind, as he lets reality snap him into a different space.

Corvo's heart seems to lunge into his throat as gravity asserts it's existence and icy gales whip around him. Dunwall is a miniature doll's house rapidly approaching before he changes, realising that he's taken too much once again with the spreading of wings that don't seem quite right for some reason he can't quite place. He is too busy manoeuvring the winds, wings cutting through gales until a second later they lift him high into the sky with just the slightest shift of feathers, too awed by the thrill that resounds between him and the Outsider, filling his chest and mind with ecstatic exhilaration.

They swoop down to the docks in what feels like seconds, revealing the whaler's ship to be missing, but with the waves out at sea rolling into the harbour and river mouth, it isn't a surprise to find them gone. Instead they follow the river inland, so high up one can hardly decipher anymore what is ships and boats and what is houses and crates, but this bird's eyes seem only too keen to make out the people moving behind windows, like hagfish that lie near the surface in waiting, making the roof of their beak itch. Their wings twitch, calculations neither of them know racing through an animal body ready to lunge, to drop from the sky and-

Two horns blare, first one and then another joining it for three- four- five seconds, and Corvo snaps back to attention, spots the two black masses on the river and without further ado closes his wings to drop down. The fall, - no this is no fall this is a stoop as falcons do it, narrows the world down to the pinprick that is their goal, a red shape on the deck of the nearer ship. But the closer they get, the more Corvo can calculate the size and distance of the ships he understands that something is wrong. So he snaps their wings out early, wind trying to cut through feathers, and muscles burning when he suddenly understands his own size, as they make contact with the deck unexpectedly early, not webbed toes of a gull, but sharp talons clawing ribbons out of the wood, a wing sweeps two whalers off deck, the other propped against the nearest wall, jamming a door shut.

Corvo looks down (and down and down) at Daud, noticing his own jagged edged beak for the first time and opens it, just so they can see Daud's pale face change from shock to abject horror. 

_"The Pandyssian Sea Raptor,"_ the Outsider's voice rings out in Corvo's mind with barely hidden glee, _"Is the greatest fear of most sailors, more so those that don't stem from The Isles. A living, ancient, man-hunting horror, one of the few species that have made humans their prey, finding them an easy pick of ships decks, wharves and streets, from the biggest man to the smallest child. Devoured in one bite or ripped apart with ease."_

Corvo shifts and watches closely as Daud only presses himself closer to the wall behind him, clenching his left fist so hard they can hear the gloves leather creak. He wonders if Daud is so terrified that he doesn't even consider pulling his sword and instead is trying will the dead Mark to work, or if he does know that this is Corvo. He wonders if it would make any difference either way. 

_They gave him nightmares as a child._ The Heart suddenly chimes in, still beating slow and warm in his chest. _They sometimes still do. Once he watched one of his mother's men picked straight from the mast while hauling sails, never to be seen again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pandyssian Sea Raptor was inspired by Pelagornis Sansersi and Pelagornis Chilensis, extinct ancient seabirds that showed up in the results when looking for 'largest seabird' and how could I possibly resist making Corvo a creepy giant bird. 
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> Now imagine those combined with sth like, Harpy Eagle ........... feet


	8. A System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try to work together, it's hard and no one understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i pray there are no more stupid spelling errors

Corvo and the Outsider release the bird's shape slowly, each fascinated with the strange sensation of feathers turning into ash, which collects on the deck of the ship and lingers for mere moments before it get's whipped away by the storm. Only once the 'decay' of this shape reaches its torso and legs, does the process speed up to be nearly instantaneous, a dizzying rush of lightness and release as their shape loses volume, surrounding them with a cloud of ash and the suddenly purposeless magic permeates Corvo's arm, his hand, his bones, can feel the Outsider twist in his mind at the sensation they still share. 

Corvo's hand turns numbs and cold, his boots are firmly on deck, flakes of ash whirling around him and Daud, as it gets carried off-deck into the river and the city beyond. 

"Daud." Corvo greets, brushing a disintegrating flake of ash off his shoulder, his hair and coat whipping in the wind. There are splattering noises behind him as the two Whalers climb back over the railing helped up by a rope thrown by the third, who'd ducked quick enough to avoid the enormous wings, complaining to each other behind their masks, but voices too low for Corvo to hear the exact words.

"Attano," Daud growls in return, he is frowning now. His entire face a mask of pure displeasure and if Corvo didn't notice his paleness and the sweat on his brow (and if the image of Daud struck by fear could ever possibly leave his memory) one would think that nothing was amiss at all, "That was entirely unnecessary."

"The winds are too strong for just a regular bird," Corvo replies, doesn't see the need to let Daud know this shape had happened by accident. _If_ it had been an accident, the Outsider's smugness is so intense that the line between his and Corvo's own seems to blur worryingly, "and going by foot would have taken too long to find you." 

"Whatever just don't-"

Daud's words, however obvious they may be, get carried away by a gale cutting across the deck, a loud bang barely reaching them as the door violently slams shut behind the three whalers, and throwing Corvo forward with its abruptness. Daud immediately leans back, standing with his shoulders pressed against the wall and legs at an angle, jamming himself in place between wall and floor as he catches Corvo's wrist and pulls them together, chest to chest, Daud's face turned away from the wind. 

The next gust seems to suck the breath from Corvo's lungs and burns on his skin, stings in his ears and eyes, and he decides, where he originally meant to throw off Daud's hand on his left wrist, to instead hold on. Wrapping his long fingers around the glove of Daud's left forearm and ducks his head down into the small wind shadow of Daud's face. His cheekbone to Daud's nose.

To Corvo's horror, the already swaying ship creaks with the wind and begins leaning. Where before he could only see the rooftops or upper floors, he can now make out the house fronts of the riverbank. Daud's grip on his arm hardens. 

_" He is trying to stop time,"_ the Outsider comments, sounding eerily calm in Corvo's mind in comparison to the chaos and cacophony of the storm around them, _"Let him."_

For a long moment, Corvo is confused until he realises that part of the tension he feels isn't from the stress of his environment. It is deep-seated and strange, controlling, like holding a horse's reigns too tight until your fingers are numb, while someone else tries to lead it away. Daud trying to coax and cajole the leftover magic still seated in his arm to do his bidding, while Corvo exerts his greater control almost forcefully.

He flexes his fingers against Daud's arm, tries to relax just enough, pulling more magic for Daud to use, lets the ice cold sensation slosh up to his wrist, his arm. Wills it malleable and soft, easy to control. 

Corvo can see Daud's eyes widen for a moment, his other hand clamping down on Corvo's shoulder before the world turns grey and then a blur. The transversal feels different from his own blink, slower and more disintegrating and dragging, than his own, near instant relocation. He catches for a moment water below their feet, a door, stairs-

Daud stops at the stairs landing, hand still clamped around Corvo's arm and starts barking orders to the Whalers around him. Shapes flitter in and out of Corvo's quickly shrinking field of vision as if ash was blotting out the light around him, but Corvo can't decipher the words or faces only sees them glance over Daud's shoulder at him, masks eyeglasses glinting in the artificial light. Whalesong rings in his ears at a stunning volume that disrupts any thoughts he might piece together, the Outsider's displeased twisting a dangerous, painful stretch in his mind, which feels like it is getting pulled in all directions by dozens of pinching fingers and clutching fists, only to snap back in place when they let go. 

His arm by now is entirely numb the empty sensation climbing up his shoulder and neck rapidly, save for a biting, burning cold around his wrist. Corvo knows he would be on his knees if he wasn't already with his back against a wall and legs locked, so he just gasps for breath. A deep, hard cough whacks his chest, feels bruising with the cold, but nothing comes up or out, there is no water in his lungs this time, only ice cold air, like heavy fog. 

"I'm not the Void you prick," Corvo hisses and blindly grabs at Daud's arm with his right hand, "you have to stop." 

Daud turns to him, eyebrows drawn, mouth open as if ready to snap at Corvo, but his jaw clicks shut as he stares for a long second, and turns back towards his men. 

For a long, horrified moment Corvo thinks he is going to continue until there's nothing of him left, and he can feel the magic being pulled, filtered through him, shuffling people around, faster and more hurried until Daud let's go of his wrist abruptly. 

"Now move!", he barks at the last Whalers remaining in the room who quickly sprint off, and grabs further up at Corvo's shoulder, the other his coat, and drags him through a hallway and into a room. 

Only once Corvo is pushed into a chair does his vision seem to clear back up, and he quickly recognises the tied up crates and swaying hammock around him, to be the ones he saw last night in Daud's office. The stove isn't lit today, but the metal still radiates warmth. 

Daud is standing next to him, holding Corvo's marked hand and pushing up the sleeve of his coat and shirt, to reveal a wet looking, stark black patch of skin where Daud had grabbed him, like a second, hand-shaped mark freshly inked into the skin. The area around it already swollen and an angry red.

"Fuck," Daud muttered, carefully dropping Corvo's hand onto the chairs lean and turning away to rummage in the drawers of his desk, "Why'd you let me use it if it does _this_?!"

"It-" 

Corvo stops, realising his voice is shaking, his heart racing, feels brittle like only Coldridge had ever left him.

He doesn't have time for this. 

He is sick of being weak in front of Daud. 

How does he always end up like this in front of the assassin but no-one else? Poisoned on a boat, exhausted from the cold, burnt up by magic. Corvo pushes himself further up in the chair, sits up straight, takes a deep breath and, as if it was a physical action, pushes the distress aside. He can deal with this later, especially as Daud's gaze weights heavy on him. 

"Sharing your mark is taxing," Corvo says with his usual, steady voice.

"The Arcane Bond," Daud mutters and hands Corvo a tube of cream, "It was barely a minute." 

"It pulls," Corvo says, tries to find an apt description of the sensation, "We take from the Outsider through the Void, they took from you through me. It's like everyone tries to pluck and run with a piece of what you are, and lets it snap back into place once it not needed. Does it feel like that for you? Normally?"

Daud is quiet for a long moment, the ship under them hums to life and the swaying of the floor beneath them is now underlined by the distinct feeling of being in motion. 

"No," he responds, "It's impersonal. Like a deck of cards that constantly shuffles itself and you can feel where every card in it is. You just reach and pull." 

"Well, let's not do that again either way. Where are we going?" 

"Further upriver," Daud replies, turning to the map spread out on his desk, "If the storm gets worse the ships might not withstand the winds." 

Corvo hums in acknowledgement. He isn't particularly well versed with ships, most of his knowledge he gained through sheer boredom during his two months voyage before- 

Before. 

He carefully opens the unlabelled tube and sniffs at the opening, only getting a whiff of wax and almond oil. It seems to be similar, if not the same kind, he has in his kit in the tower. Most times he just uses it if his scars become irritated by chafing clothes, but it shouldn't do this strange magical not-burn on his arm any harm. 

' _Void does it sting though,'_ Corvo thinks, clenching his teeth as he gently applies the cream under Daud's scrutinizing gaze. The Outsider twists the lid in Corvo's left hand, feeling the texture while shifting uncomfortably in Corvo's mind. 

\---

An hour later Daud enters his cabin again, slamming the door behind himself and standing frozen for a moment, staring. 

Corvo had heard him approach well in advance from where he is standing by the desk, not at all perturbed by Daud catching him literally elbow deep in the assassin's drawer full of ordered paperwork, most of it now strewn about. He'd been skimming through reports on jobs, their financial situation, numbers on manpower and branches. Blackmail and information on several nobles and gang leaders, some of which he already knew, some of which was very, very interesting for his own purposes. 

"What the fuck, Attano!" Daud barks as soon as he get's over the shock of Corvo's audacity that is his papers strewn all over the desk, some lying on the floor by Corvo's feet "If you want information you can damn well buy it like everyone else! I have a _system_ , void damn it!"

"Your system is fine," Corvo replies easily, swatting at Daud who was about to snatch the seven-pages acquisition list out of Corvo's hands, "Just give me a minute, you won't even notice the difference." 

"I damn well will," Daud growls, barely standing a step behind Corvo and scrutinizing him as Corvo shuffles papers into stacks, splits them, sorts them into the filing cabinet and pinches others back between desk and thread so they won't fall with the ships swaying or the draft from the door. 

No two minutes later everything looks exactly as before, while Corvo pushes at the corners of some papers on the desk, angling them in a way Daud noticed they'd been wrong before but wouldn't have been able to tell how they were supposed to be. Not until Corvo finished at least, stepping away, eyes tracking across the desk surveying his work.

"All right," Corvo says as he pulls out the chair from under the desk, turns it towards Daud and sits down, "do you have anything regarding this," he waves his left hand, "and who might be behind it?"

Daud sneers at him but turns away to fish the folding chair from between crates anyway, positions it so he sits opposite Corvo, for once neither of them cornered, "What, don't you already know?"

"Don't be absurd, Daud. I had time enough to go through your desk's filing cabinet, not the room."

"As if you couldn't stop time that long."

Corvo stares at Daud for a moment blank-faced, before frowning at the Outsider's mocking laugh (and since when can he listen in?), "Didn't think of it."

The corner of Daud's mouth twitches into a momentary, barely there grin.

\---

Their discussion about what to and not to do, who may be hunting the Outsider and why, what would be needed and how many may be behind this, is, without a doubt, the most frustrating and useless several hours long conversation Corvo has ever had. And he has sat through enough meetings with nobles and politicians to know how to herd a pack of cats. Between Daud, the Outsider, several different Whalers that entered and exited the office at sporadic times, and himself, they have reached an entirely new form of pointless debating and chasing tangents without reason, that Corvo almost has to be impressed. 

It might even be fun if it wasn't so frustrating. 

"Enough," Corvo cuts in between the Outsider's and Daud's pointless posing, 'Like two tomcats about to piss on each other.' he compares in the secrecy of his mind. "The cult in Karnaca you mentioned - " 

"It's not going to be _them_ , the made me, they worship The Void. Besides, they're too stuck _admiring_ it to do anything to it," the Outsider cuts him off. 

"Cults are fickle, they might have decided they can do better than a -"

" _Daud_ , " Corvo interrupts the insult that was sure to follow, mirroring the assassin's glare, "makes a fair point, Outsider."

For a moment the two (three) of them sit in silence, only interrupted by the sounds of the storm raging outside and the creaking of the ship as it sways. The Outsider makes his displeasure known by slowly stretching in Corvo's mind, only aggravating the headache that was left behind by the exertion of the mark. 

"I take it you have a way to contact your whalers in Karnaca?" 

"You know far too much," the assassin grumbles, "I'll send a telegram in the morning. Unlikely to go through tonight with this weather."

Corvo nods and gets up, "It seems that's as good as it get's tonight. I'll take my leave."

_"We won't,"_ the Outsider cuts in, stopping Corvo on his way to the door. He can feel Daud's gaze boring into his back. 

"What do you mean by that?"

_"There's a lightning storm over Dunwall, flying would be a death sentence and I refuse,"_ is the cool answer.

With a growl Corvo turns on his heel and drops back onto the chair, his glare that was supposed to stop Daud from asking questions apparently just invites conversation for the assassin.

"Not leaving after all?" he asks, Corvo can't tell if he's smug or confused. But before he can come up with a response the sound of booming thunder is suddenly audible, barely muffled through the ship's walls. 

Corvo simply motions towards the ceiling and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

"Fair enough," Daud responds, "but no more digging through my files while you wait this out, understood?"

"All right," Corvo amends, making a mental note to go through Daud's personal items ~~again~~ next. Those aren't files after all, but it seems like a small payment considering today's outcome. He isn't sure what he'd expected out of hiring Daud and his Whalers, but it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue that they have nothing. Nothing at all.


	9. Can this night get any worse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops.

Daud startles out of his doze by the sound of harsh coughing, almost gagging and only a moment later he recognizes the sound of liquid splattering onto the floor. 

' _Great,_ ' he thinks as he climbs out from his hammock, ' _Attano is seasick and throwing up on my floor, can this night get any worse._ '

He could have made the Lord Protector sleep in the barracks with the rest of the whalers but there was no way he was going to send a man he doesn't truly understand, let alone trust, into a room full of sleeping Whalers. Sleeping Whalers that would most certainly not sleep that night. Instead, Daud had thrown a pillow and blanket from his hammock at Corvo and told him to get comfortable.

"Attano," Daud calls, trying to get the man's attention, approaching him with quiet steps and Daud sees now, in the dim light and half-shadows of a covered whale oil lamp, that he is on his knees. Coughs are still wracking through his body, one of his hands on his neck while the other is braced on the floor, pressing fingers against dust and metal. Barely a moment later he spits more. 

This sounds wrong, Daud realises, this sounds all sorts of wrong. Like a man drowning, not sick and there is no smell of bile, just salt. Crouching down next to him he grabs Corvo by the shoulder trying to get his attention but the man only seems to curl up more, become tenser. Out of options, Daud decides to just thump him on the back instead until his breath sounds clearer and the motion peters out into patting, reminding him of the countless times he ended up comforting young (and old) sick Whalers.

After several minutes Attano's breathing finally slows, his muscles shaking with what must be exhaustion or anxiety. Daud can't tell but he himself feels somewhat derailed. This wasn't something he had ever dealt with, drowning, sure, vomiting, sure, but drowning away from any water, well, that just seemed impossible. He entertains the thought that perhaps Attano stopped time, did who knows what and almost drowned on the way, but then there was no reason for him to come to Daud of all people. 

Daud squeezes his shoulder, gently pushing him to kneel up or sit back and this time Attano goes with the motion. The dim light throws shadows under his eyes and it almost looks like - 

But it is when Attano turns his head up at him, that Daud starts to realise what might be happening just now, for what stares back at him is not just the tired face of the Lord Protector, but also watery black eyes that leak tears and ichor over his cheeks, and the Outsider's, Corvo's, voice is raspy when he says, "He's gone, Daud."

\---

There is distant whalesong and the hum of deep waters pressing on his ears, snippets of Dunwall, of Karnaka, of mountain ranges, and Outsider shrines passing by. Voices whisper in his mind about allies about traitors and those that don't matter for _this_ as he seems to sink to the depths of an engulfing darkness - 

\- a void, 

_The Void._

Corvo snaps to attention, unravelling the not-dream. The sudden awareness bringing disorientation and a gasp for air that seems to fill his chest with ice but feels otherwise unnecessary.  
Waving his arms he realises that the sensation of being in water persists, now that it had succeeded in dragging him into it, and pushes and pedals until he feels he might be upright, but here, in the depths of The Void untouched by the Outsider's influence, that doesn't quite seem to matter.

A familiar view suddenly appears below his feet in the uninterrupted blackness that now surrounds him, gravity dragging him down until he stands on the marble slabs that make out the pavillions floor. This time, there is no Empress' corpse, no blood, no sword, not even the plaques commemorating Jessamine's death are there. Only a piece of paper barely visible in the dim light. 

Corvo looks around himself, trying to spot other changes but there is nothing. Not even other islands of sceneries are visible, just oppressing blackness where the Void is usually grey-blue and the sound of whales coming from far, far above. Cloying inertia holds Corvo's legs as if he is wading through molasses, sweat gathers at his brow in the few steps it takes him to reach the paper. Though it might also be humidity that clings to him and hovers like mist in the air.

The sheet of paper sticks to the floor as if it had dried there, cracking at the edges, wrinkles now permanently embedded. Corvo turns it over to check the writing, expecting the same result as every other time he had done so. What stares back at him from the faded ink, in a younger Emily's bold, childish handwriting, are new words. Ones that fill him with dread and hope alike:

[[High res](https://66.media.tumblr.com/152348750bcdebef4b094ad72e7d8221/tumblr_pfqon66K2r1u61ubzo1_1280.png)]

The paper cracks as Corvo folds it twice to fit into the inner pocket of his vest, carefully brushes over his chest to make sure it is flat and only then does Corvo notice an absence, an emptiness.

He checks again, reaches into his vest, focusing on the heart, on the strange place between it seems to occupy in his chest and he comes up empty. It is gone. She's gone! 

When Corvo presses his fingers against the muscle on the right side of his chest there is only the give of skin, not of _space_ , no leather or wire slides against his fingers, no agonisingly slow, second heartbeat thumps against his ribs. He feels solid and empty at the same time, but not being able to withstand the irrational urge he opens the coat to look into it himself as he could possibly miss something the size and importance as her heart. 

Corvo pauses mid-movement, instead staring at the lapel in his hand, the sleeve on his wrist. 

Wrapped around his body is his old, black Lord Protector's coat, the one that Jessamine had tailor-made for him, adjusted to allow him enough space to hide weapons and mobility to fight in, while still looking appropriate for court. 

The shoes, trousers and shirt he is wearing are still the same he'd worn to enter Daud's ship, that he had slept in, but the coat. This coat has long been destroyed. It had suffered much during Corvo's stint to save Emily, crawling through the sewers, stalking across the roofs, bettered by wind, rain and magic. There'd been no point in trying to fix it. It doesn't exist anymore. 

Only now does he realise that his grey gloves are gone, he'd barely taken them off in the past five years to hide the mark but now he can see that the back of his left hand is disturbingly plain, no ink, no glow, no magic, only the black burned print of Daud's palm is still on his upper arm when he pulls up the sleeve, but the skin around it isn't raw and red anymore, it looks old. Healed. A clench of his fist is only that, muscles and tendons working, there is no feeling of cold or magic or energy. 

There are scars on his hands he doesn't recognise, his long hair is much, much longer as it falls past his face and onto his chest, like it did when he'd just been gifted to the Emperor (after which it had been cut off, no one had even asked for his permission and he'd _hated_ Euhorn for it). 

A moment of gut-clenching, mindnumbing panic later, Corvo decides to look away from himself. Every time he turned over his hands they would change, every time he refocuses on a detail it changes. ' _This is the Void_ ' Corvo reminds himself, ' _time means nothing to it._ '

The pavilion, that he was sure had been under his feet the entire time, is gone. Instead, he hangs once again suspended in nothing. _Stands_ suspended in nothing, there is no sensation of floating this time, just gentle, slow sinking that he could barely feel. 

It is too slow, he thinks, he needs to get deeper, go deeper, from here he won't reach the cross-paths, the eye, space too means nothing but like this he can't reach them, he needs to do it himself, needs to choose, yes or no, he may have been taken here but he needs to get down on his the own if he wants to be of any use, any help, up there is escape but deeper down, further in, there is no bottom, there is no end, just The Void, just-

"Okay," Crovo interrupts his own thoughts, no, _these_ thoughts. They are subtler than the Outsider, at least in the beginning, but there was no way he could have mistaken these as his own, Corvo was never fond of 'down', climbing was more his forte. 

Corvo turns around, scans his surroundings once again but there is nothing. No structures or rocks, no buoys or whales. No pavilion, no light. Just himself, not that he entirely understands how he can see himself if there is no light, but he doesn't want to analyse this further. This place feels wrong, very wrong like he shouldn't be here, no one should, and the sensation makes his chest hurt and fingers clench into fists. 

Something wet squelches in his hand, a waterlogged sheet of paper, yellowed and stained as the one he's just put in his pocket minutes ago. ' _What now,_ ' he thinks and carefully peels the layers apart. Indeed the writing has changed, the old ink is blurred and soaked into the paper, almost entirely unreadable, but in runny, stark black ink there now is only one word staring back at him, The Void's command in plain view. 

**CHOOSE**

Corvo sighs, would pace if moving wasn't such a strain and if he had ground to walk on, though all he stands on is the precipice of an unasked question, a demand, he has to choose. Either he goes up, past the blackness, the Whales, this not-water-not-nothing surrounding him and find an exit, should one exist that allowed him to regain his body. _Or_ he goes down. Trusts whatever puts these thoughts into his head, whatever stripped him of his power, his body, his sleep. The Void, that had ignored the Outsider until it lost him but now demands him back using Corvo as it's tool.  
' _Does he even want to go back?_ ' Corvo suddenly wonders, wishes he could ask, wishes he already had when he realised that the Void was pulling at him like the Death that it is, wanting to make a deal. 

No, not a deal.

A choice.

But at least he _has_ a choice, Corvo tells himself, rubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath of heavy, icy air. He has a choice and it's no choice at all.

Corvo looks up, to where the whalesong comes from _and jumps into the abyss_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	10. Self-control and nothing more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've extended the chapter count by three as I'm currently one chapter behind and don't want to force myself into rushing it. One chapter will also be an epilogue! It's gonna be _fun_!

"What do you mean he is gone?" Daud demands, pulling the Outsider up by his shoulders until the god stands taller than himself, as Corvo is, even if on shaky legs. 

"The Void-" he stops, pressing his hands to his temples, "Urgh, my head hurts."

Daud's ungloved fingers dig painfully hard into the Outsiders, Corvo's, shoulders, " _Where_ is _Attano_ ," he presses, staring down the god now stuck in a human body. 

The black eyes are wide as they stare back at him, Daud can only tell from the wet glint that the Outsider avoids looking at him, "The Void took him, we didn't expect it to succeed so soon."

"Why would the Void take him, why did you expect it at all?"

"When he slept it would pull at him, " he explains, "I don't know why. Maybe it thought it's me, maybe it wants to punish me for leaving, _I don't know_!"

Daud grabs him once again by the lapels, this time there is no Corvo to interfere, his fists are itching, his blood boiling for a fight, "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I have no reason to l-"

"Oh, you do! Of course you do, who do you take me for?!" the assassin snarls.

"Daud, I-" the Outsider's words get lodged in his throat as Daud pushes him away, makes him stumble backwards, only catching himself with one hand on the chair behind him. Standing opposite him like this, physical, mortal, is terrifying and, as the Outsider begins to realise, seeing the hate practically pouring off of every inch of Daud's body, a _terrible_ mistake.

"Fucking me over wasn't enough, huh?" Daud starts, beginning to pace, three steps left, three steps right, murder on two legs locked in a cage made of self-control and gossamer, "First you goad me into this mess for years. Drive Vera Moray into obsessive madness. Sell out Delilah when she aims too high. Now you _stole_ Corvo's _body_ and act like you don't know what you were doing!"

"I did not _steal_ -"

"Did you do this with all your other marked too? Driving them into lunacy, making them trust you, _like_ you, for your own entertainment? Perhaps you should have thought further than to stand mortal in front of the one who you turned into a lifelong bloodbath-"

"I never put the _knife_ in your hand!" 

"You might as well-" 

" **Your powers don't kill!!!** " the Outsiders shouts back, startling Daud, and himself, for a moment into silence, "I don't choose them, I can't control what you get! They are based on who you are! Not what you are, not who you _think_ you are, not who you were shaped to be, they are built on the base of _you_ , on your soul!"

They stand like this, facing each other, barely a step apart, the Outsider out of breath, not used to talking for so long, let alone yelling, while having to rely on a human pair of lungs. His long hair out of order where he'd accidentally pulled it out of the tie Corvo had last adjusted before going to sleep. 

" _You weren't_ built to kill! _Corvo_ was, and yet you are the assassin and he the _protector_ , what does that say about you? About your choices that you have made that defy your nature so completely!" 

The Outsider freezes as Daud is suddenly much closer, large hands, dry, hot skin wrapping around his throat and _pressing_ , "I will wring your neck," the man growls and the Outsider can smell cold cigarette smoke on his breath. 

"And kill her second parent too?" the Outsider hisses back past the pressure.

"He is already dead and for all we know this was _your_ plan all along!" 

" _The amount of times,_ " a woman's voice interrupts them, making Daud flinch a step away from the Outsider who's face pulls into a grimace, stumbling backwards, shoving his hand under the vest to pull something out as the voice continues, " _that Emily has cried and screamed and fought and_ ordered _Corvo to kill you._ "

The Outsider pulls out a glowing, beating, grotesque heart, loses his grip when it beats in his fingers, Daud only catches it out of reflex, stares in shock at the thing that speaks with the dead Empress' voice. Heart beating in his hands, just as fast as his own.

" _So many times, so many fights and so much unrest and yet, he refused to kill you time and time again. I can see much about you, Daud, but I can't see what he sees in you._ "

Both Daud and the Outsider stare at it aghast, the Outsider's hand rubbing on his chest as if trying to get rid of the sensation of it's beating in his, Corvo's, skin. 

"It doesn't matter anymore," Daud replies, voice low but sharp once he'd gathered his thoughts, pushes away the disbelief at Corvo so steadfast refusing for later, "Corvo is dead and the Outsider is possessing his body!"

" _He isn't dead. The Void called for him and dragged him down to speak to it,_ " there is a short, tense pause as Daud gets the impression that the Heart is looking, searching for something, gazing far past him " _And he agreed. Going deeper down than even you have been, Outsider, let alone the dead. Therefore, no, Corvo is not dead, unless you mean to drive a blade through **his** heart as well?_ " 

Daud stares at it, grim-faced but pale as a ghost, hands cold and clammy without his gloves, "I will not."

" _Good._ " it replies, but its voice turns bitter and cold, " _It's almost a shame. I'm sure the Outsider could have fashioned it with a voice too, so he could haunt you, stuck in this cruel limbo between life and death with me, knowing we forgot and yet knowing too much._ "

It falls silent.

He gestures for the Outsider to take it back, who immediately takes a step away from Daud's outstretched arm, "Absolutely not," the god protests. 

" _You will carry me then,_ " the Heart says, " _Consider it a punishment and a reminder, **Knife**. Fortunately for you, I am too tired to keep speaking. I have just one last warning for you: Do not break me. Corvo is sure not to forgive that when he returns._ "  
With those words, the light dims behind the glass and the beat slows down until Daud expects it to stop entirely, but after a long moment of silence and stillness hanging heavy in the air, it throbs once again in his palm. 

They both stare at it until the Outsider turns away to sit down in the chair he'd caught himself on earlier, rubbing his hands over his face, grimacing at the black he'd just smeared all over. 

Daud lets out the breath he'd been holding, anger and rage seeping out of him leaving him cold, mentally, physically. With his hip leaning against the desk, Daud turns the heart over in his hands, tries to rationalise how it works but on the first look he is not able to make sense of it. 

"I never noticed this before, how does he carry it- this... urgh, _her_." 

"In his chest, apparently," the Outsider replies, making a disgusted face as he motions putting something into the half unbuttoned vest that Corvo had slept in, momentarily distracted as he finds a clean handkerchief in one of the inner pockets to clean his face with, "not that I know how he does it. It folds into him next to his own heart. It feels grotesque, invasive. Void knows how he can stand it. It was never even meant to last this _long_ , weeks at most, perhaps months, but _five years_ ," The Outsider shakes his head in disbelief, wiping the black tears from his, Corvo's, face and hands.

Daud can tell that the bewilderment in his expression is real, as is the discomfort. He ignores it though, focuses instead on his own heart beating too fast, making his free hand shake as he unbuttons the top of his coat which he'd thrown on when he got out of the hammock's warm pillows and blankets less than an hour ago. 

While he rationally knows that it won't fit, _can't_ fit, he pushes the Heart past the opening of his coat and instead of being met by cloth and muscle and ribs, there is no resistance at all as it sinks deeper and takes its place. Sitting like an ill-fitting splint, wires and bone prodding against what feels like his lungs, his ribs, his spine.

He withdraws his hand and buttons his coat up, grimacing when he can feel it give a slow beat, like a lurch in his stomach, like a sob pushing against a locked up throat- 

Daud shakes his head and turns to the Outsider, who stares, eyes wide, lips parted, hands held mid-motion as he was wiping at his palms, at what he just witnessed, opening his mouth as if to say something before shutting it again. The words he ends up saying certainly aren't the ones that he meant for. "We need to contact Emily, she is expecting Corvo back. Who knows what she'll do if he goes missing without a word and you being the last person she knows he worked with." 

"Oh great," Daud mutters. 

\--

"Your majesty," Alexi calls from the door of Emilie's office as she enters, "I've got a message that supposedly is from Lord Attano."

Emily looks up from the stack of letters she'd been reading through, "Supposedly? What does it say?"

"I only opened it to check that it's safe," She replies and hands over the cut envelope, "didn't read any of it, looks suspicious though."

"Thank you," Emily mutters and turns over the envelope first. It's the same size, fold and paper as the ones Corvo usually carries a few with him for exactly this purpose. It barely covers a third of her palm, the front holds a print of their rings. The paper inside is the same too, as supposed to, the rest though does not match at all. 

Corvo's handwriting is small, tightly wound cursive that is hard to decipher to someone who isn't used to it and only she can read the shorthand he uses, had taught her how to make her own. On top of that, he uses pencil in these messages as it isn't affected by water or humidity like ink. This is most definitely _isn't_ from him.

The first line of, well, she supposes _text_ is a series of strange symbols set together by sweeping curves, harsh dashes and tight circles that mean nothing to her but a nagging recognition that she can't quite place. Either way the entirety of it is struck through and a simple 'Disregard, Whale can't write Gristol.' is next to it as if an afterthought. 

The same hand wrote out the body of the letter in clearly readable, tall, narrow print letters with black ink. The handwriting looks sharp, almost jagged but controlled, someone who writes a lot and doesn't like it one bit. Her own isn't unlike it these days.

> Your bird is in the sea and the whale beached on land.  
>  Will keep him out of trouble until they're switched back, however long that will be.  
>  More information to follow as soon as there is any.
> 
> -Daud

Emily stares at the paper, her eyes fixed on the last word, the name, the _signature_ of who wrote this. 

"Emily?" Alexi asks, her voice sounds distant to Emilie as her pulse races in her ears and she can only imagine the expression she holds right now. 

"Who brought the message?" Emily grits out.

"A young man, blonde, slim, looked Morley. I figured he is one of Corvo's? Said he is to wait in case there is a return, " Alexi frowns, "What is this all about?"

"Take me to him," Emily snaps as she shoves the paper into her pant's pocket, rushes to grab her coat and change into her tall boots, " _Just_ you. No one else will find out about this, if you breathe a _word_ to the- "

"Emily!" Alexi calls, blocking Emilies way out of the door, stopping her from rushing to the other exit my grabbing her shoulders, "l don't know what this is all about but you know you can trust me! I've got your backs, both of you."

She stops and after a long moment of silently staring Alexi down she sighs, feels herself deflate for a moment as she turns away and rubs her hands on her trousers. She is sweating.

"I'll explain later, or at least try to just, just take me to him."

When they arrive in one of the waiting rooms Emily can immediately tell that the man standing in front of a painting of the Wrenhaven is nervous and unarmed, if the locked glass case full of weapons next to him is anything to go by. His coat is the same red as she sees in her nightmares but he is not _him_. He spins into their direction and she can see his eyes widen for just a moment. "Your imperial majesty," he says and bows with surprising elegance.

"Are you a Whaler?" Emily demands the moment Alexi closes the door behind them, ignoring his outstretched hand and opting for staring him down instead.

He hesitates for a moment but then nods, "I'm his second."

"Good," Emily replies, steps closer until she can see him realise that she is taller, having inherited her father's height and the help of heels, taking another step closer for good measure. Forcing him to look up to keep the eye contact and they are almost chest to chest.

Her voice is low and cold and even as she goes on, "Tell him, that if my father is not returned with or without his _benefactor_ by the end of the month, I will make sure to use my considerable resources to find every last one of you and make you regret ever having so much as set foot onto the same _island_ as him," the Whaler gives in, taking a step back, and she can see his eyes widen as she simply follows, "And _Daud_ ," another step back as she hisses the name, "I will save for _last_ and I will make him _watch_ ," two more steps, Emilie's front lapel brushes his collar as the man's lower back is pressed against the glass case, gloved hands gripping at the edge as if he could stop himself from shrinking further under her presence, "Understood?"

The Whaler nods, pale-faced, and Emily hears him quietly swear when she slams the door as they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corvo _who_?


	11. Blood Red, Horizonless Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and the Void part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer than intended and not as much happened as I wanted to, buuuuuut that just means all in all more chapters, yeah? It's probably going to be more around... idk, 18 than 15 but I'll leave it on 15 until I got a more concrete idea so I don't change the max number a million times.  
> I'm not confident at all about the stuff happening in here buuuuut it got into my had so I wanted to add it. Do let me know what you think?
> 
> Thanks @thegrumblingirl for your help!

When Corvo jumped his eyes were clenched shut and his body tense but as his surroundings grew colder and, for a lack of words, _denser_ , he opened them again. There was little sense in hiding from his decisions.

For a long time, long enough as that the sensation of falling has weirdly worn off, all he can see is blackness. So absolute and all-encompassing that Corvo would think he's gone blind as after minutes, hours, he can't even see his own hands before his eyes anymore.

The thought that 'This might just be it' occurs to him. It did say there is no bottom, there is no end and Corvo wonders if he can still die or, he realises with horror, if he already is dead after all. Has he abandoned Emily in his mad dash to help the Outsider? Would he pretend to be Corvo and take his place? Would he wander the world instead, leaving his daughter to think Corvo abandoned her for a god? How long until she'd find out? How long until Daud realises the Outsider is now riding solo? And how long until he can't contain his hatred for the god, Corvo's body or not. He starts fearing if he'll ever be able to return to it. These thoughts circle in his mind for too long, making his heart hammer in his chest ( _only_ his anymore) with anxiety.

It is the appearance of a distant, red light, no bigger or brighter than a star but _closer_ , that startles Corvo out of his thoughts, fears, but before he can squint and try to look closer another appears and another. A dozen scattered across the darkness suddenly turn into hundreds, thousands, brushing up to his coat, his hair, his hands, whipping past him as he falls through these false stars that are much too close, much too dense, Corvo can barely see the blackness anymore and not a moment later his back hits a surface and Corvo is engulfed in a bright red flood.

\---

"You sure it's him? Looks too posh, don't you think?" a woman's voice asks.

Another one, equally close responds, "Do you think I could mistake him?!"

"Calm yourself, he is not even dead, he's too whole to be dead. Oh, look, yours' got one too."

"Please say that is a tattoo."

"Looks just like the real thing. They never come here though, we only get their stories or their handyw- oh he's moving!"

 

Corvo's head, no, his whole body is pounding, throbbing in sync with his pulse but he also feels floaty and strangely blinded though he hasn't even opened his eyes yet, and the entire sensation is just wholly uncomfortable.

Slowly he gathers himself, opens his eyes to the immediately disorienting shining Red surrounding him, the further he sees, the brighter it seems, until it hurts to keep looking.

"How are you feeling, dear?" one of the women ask again, something brushes against- _through_ Corvo's shoulder and he flinches back, whips around to face them. Somehow it only now sunk in that there were _people_ here. Wherever this here is.

"Skittish one. Still not dead though," a whispy, blackish green figure, like parts of a skeleton and part of an image of a woman, says. Dark brown hair all the way down her back, sharp eyes, sharp jaw, sharp grin, the smack of wild wind hitting sails, salt in the air, bitterness on the tongue-

Corvo can make out an apron over trousers and a loose blouse as she (it?) shifts, leans towards the other figure, woman, ghost, and whispers, "that should be a good thing, stop crying."

It's not the late-sunset orange that makes him recognise her, or the kind, watery eyes, the lined face, short black hair above the strange glowing, spectral bones, or even her voice. It's the _tak-tak-tak-tak-tak_ of a sewing machine, the smell of hot starch water, hot tea before breakfast, hot stretch of muscles as she pushes his back further up into the 'bridge' position because "If you don't do it proper what's the use of it?" (the hot sting on his cheek when he responds to her yelling with a too calm, "No, he deserved it.").

"Mammina," he whispers and stares, her hands fly up to cover her mouth as she always does when starting to cry, the other woman puts a hand on her shoulder. He still doesn't recognise her though she looks vaguely familiar.

"Corvo," she says steps towards him, hands outstretched but stopping before touching him, "Corvo, dear, what are you _doing_ here?"

"I- What is this place?" Corvo asks instead, he has an idea but-

"Welcome to the sea of the dear departed!" the other one crows, throws her arms out indicating all around them, "Not even a need for boats, all you can drown in is just the memories of every person that ever existed anyway."

"Grace!" Paloma chides, "There is no need to be crass!"

"This is a sea?" Corvo finds himself asking, it comes out more a statement than a question than me meant to and both women stare.

"Nothing like the real thing, but something like it anyway," Grace explains and his mother frowns at her unhappily.

"It is not, how can you not notice the threads, the fibres, the colours."

"We talked about this Paloma, most people see it how they'll understand best." Grace pats her shoulder as she steps, no, floats closer. "Now, Corvo was it, yes? Why do you need this to be a sea?"

He squints at her, tilts his head subconsciously, as if perhaps the angle is just a little wrong and he'll figure it out. Why does she look so familiar? Perhaps someone from Serkonos, or someone related, it's at the tip of his tongue, perhaps a trader, a shiphand? A ship's ... he can half hear the bark of orders, a storm, the pelt of rain on his skin, throat sore, hands rope burned -

Fingers snipping in-front of his face startle Corvo out of it, a memory not his own, "None of that now, you were telling me why it's a sea."

"To go deeper," he replies immediately before he can be distracted again, now that he noticed the pull of one memory he can feel the buzzing demand of dozens and dozens more demanding to be witnessed, "I need to go deeper."

"Do you perchance mean _out_ , you daft man?"

The laugh leaves him before he can quite stifle it, "No, no I need to get further in, deeper down."

"But Corvo, why? There is nothing there, there's only blackness!" his mother asks concerned, unhappy once again with the direction Corvo wishes to take and he can barely contain the sigh.

"There is always something, mother, I need to find it."

"Alright, deeper it is!" Grace agrees enthusiastically.

"No!"

"If you want to tell him something Paloma then better do it now. He won't be showing back up later and you're not leaving any time soon. No one does."

Her eyes fill with tears again, staring at Corvo who looks back making sure to project calm and understanding, but her shoulders only begin to shake as she shakes her head.

"It's not your fault," Corvo says simply but means a lot of things, too many to list up, but again there is no reply. "I need to go now," he says, an echo of himself saying this 25 years ago rings in their ears, and he completes it as he did last time, almost feels compelled to despite it being no more true than the first time, "See you later Mammina."

She doesn't reply, simply turns away, hands over her mouth.

Grace grabs his arm and pulls him away.

"Some do better here than others. She isn't one of them but just doesn't seem to fade either. Just this circle of remembering and forgetting solid and fog, has she always been like that?"

"No," Corvo replies quietly, looking back at the glowing figure, "Kind of," he corrects himself. "Who are you?"

"Ah, a proper introduction then! It's been a while, usually, I just rifle through other people's memories when they arrive and by the time I'm done they’re already drifting. Mind, I can't see yours and I wonder if it's because you are a lot more whole and alive than any of us here. Except, you know, are you really still alive or is it the Outsider's mark that keeps you together like this? I thought that they don't come here to die, this is new!"

"Quite the introduction. Most people start with their name," Corvo teases, tries not to be surprised when she stops floating and instead begins walking down a spiral staircase that'd appeared from seemingly nowhere.

"Oh for- " she turns back to Corvo and thrusts her hand at him, "Grace, retired captain of a pandyssian-serkonan pirate vessel, settled down as an apothecary, or well, that would be the legal description anyway."

Corvo shook her hand, "Corvo Attano, Royal Protector."

"Oh everyone knows _that_ ," she mutters and motions for them to continue their descend, "I'm more interested in the whole 'why are you here' part. No one knows about that yet. No one dead anyway. Did the Empress dabble in heresy and get burned? Or is this your own doing?"

Corvo follows obediently but doesn't reply. He isn't sure if he should really answer this. If this is really the afterlife, should someone (possibly still?) alive give news of what is going on above? If this _isn't_ the afterlife but some construct in the void, what would it benefit of this information? And then there is always the possibility that Daud, or someone anyway, got him impressively drugged and this is something of an interrogation.

"What?" she throws over her shoulder, " _now_ you go all quiet?"

"It's a long story," Corvo replies, "but if it'll make you feel better I'll make sure that someone who'll land here gets it."

"Yay," Grace replies flatly but doesn't stop them.

\---

"This is it," Grace says as she stops on the last visible step. The red spiral staircase had begun to expand in the last few minutes they'd been walking, becoming wider and broader until even Corvo had to take multiple steps before reaching the next stair. This last one is dropping out of the Red and seems more of a platform than anything else.

Below is once again blackness, providing a welcome contrast and an eerie stillness, compared to the waters above that are teeming with souls and memories.

"It's quiet," Corvo comments as he looks over the edge.

"That's how I found it. I like to come here from time to time," Grace admits, "when everything above us gets too much and I am nowhere near ready to let myself go like that. So I just sit here and think about _my_ memories for a change."

"Explains how you didn't get lost yet. Thank you for bringing me here," Corvo replies, leaning over the edge and staring into the darkness, "Has anyone ever tried going down from here?"

Grace nods with a grimace, "Thought it would be fun to find out what happens. Turns out that the dead are somehow bound to this part of the void. Bounced right back as if on a lifeline, throwing me into a part I'd never been before and gave me the worst version of a full-body migraine you can imagine. Needless to say: I didn't try again."

He searches her face for a moment, "Not at all? You don't strike me as someone to give up so easily," he comments startling a laugh out of her.

"Alright, you got me. I did try again, but not _down_ , that seriously hurt. Up though," she grins, "up is an entirely different story. There is a lot of leeway if you are persistent enough but no one ever made it past the blackness."

"It is _long_ ," Corvo replies grim faced.

Grace just hums in lieu of a reply. There wasn't much she _could_ say to that. She watches him take a step past her and sit down, feet dangling over the edge, bent over with his face propped up on his left hand. It should make him look small, she thinks, tired or defeated perhaps dreading. Instead all there is to him is patience, readiness. A strange acceptance of what is happening as if there is no point in questioning the task at hand when instead it could be-

"Oh!", Corvo exclaims, sitting up straight before turning to her, expression befuddled but excited, "If it's possible, would you do me a favor?"

"Well I suppose I could _try_. Void knows I got time enough. What's it you need?"

"A memory, actually," Corvo replies, "I don't have much to go on, but…” Corvo is quiet for a long moment, rubbing with his thumb along his jawline, “I guess you are going to get part of the story already. See, someone is trying to get to the Outsider and not in the traditional means. They are using the void, from what we understand, and while I'd hope not to be right, rituals, cults and witches tend to be, well... Human sacrifice doesn't seem to be that uncommon."  
Grace stares at him dumbfounded, "Are you serious?”

Corvo rolls his eyes at her, "What, you don't believe me?"

"I mean, _yes_ I do but,-” she groans, dragging her fingers through her long hair, “Oh Void that explains the rough seas."

"Rough seas?"

"Look up,” she says pointing at the waves above, “That is normally so flat it’s a mirror, like the tiniest, deepest pond you can imagine. Really, really recently, and bear with me time is void-damned hard to track here, it suddenly became wild and frothing like it’s void-damned cyclone season. This is the calmest it's gotten since."

"It was loud yes, like a wave hitting a cliffside."

She nods, "We heard that too. Alright, I'm going to give it a try. You should probably wait here, it's easy to find and you're less likely to get lost. Mentally I mean."

"Good luck," Corvo says, watching her float at first and then vanish upward in a flash, "And hurry," he adds, more for himself.

Left alone at the lowermost edge of the afterlife, Corvo is once again reminded that he is very, very alone, by his fingers pressing against his chest instead of the heart. A movement that had become so natural whenever he had a few minutes break.

\---

Corvo is starting to consider leaving without waiting any longer for Grace to return. Searching memories undoubtedly takes time, but it has been- he doesn't even know how long it's been. With nothing to entertain himself and nothing to measure the passing of time by, every second seems to turn into an hour, every hour a day.

Long.

For all he knows Daud has already gutted the Outsider for his big mouth and inability not to prod where it hurts. Alternatively, there is Emily burning down their ships and, she finds this one very poetic, jailing every single one of the Whalers in Coldridge for six months before having them executed. No doubt Daud would receive the same cell as he himself had, with a view on each and every one of them. Corvo wouldn't wish this fate on them even if he _did_ want them dead, and is glad that so far he has, as her spymaster, found reasons to keep the former assassin's guild around. Better the enemy you know, and all that. A gap as big as The Whalers would be noticed and filled with the most ambitious lot, who'd be more trouble than Daud, who keeps himself and his men out of Corvo's sight (but never too much to be suspicious).

Out of nowhere, without any shift of sound or air, Corvo feels a cold touch upon his shoulder, reaching straight through his coat upon his skin. He doesn't jump or flinch. Instead, years of trained reflexes make him whirl around and onto his feet within a split-second and thrust out his arm reflexively to call a windblast, put distance between him and whoever snuck upon him. There is a mere moment of delay, barely noticeable, had Corvo not practiced this skill for 5 years, before a wall of air throws Grace back against the stairs leading up into the waters. There she stops, hovering and unhurt, hair in disarray looking surprised but nothing more.

"Sorry, I- urgh, " Corvo starts, voice cutting out with a grunt as pain strikes him a mere moment afterward. A burning cold sensation that congregates in his left hand but its origin, burning so heavily that Corvo finds himself on his knees with the breath punched out of his lungs, not quite sure when he went down, is the handprint on his left upper arm.

"Fuck, are you ok?"

He tries to push up his sleeve and expose his arm but the friction is driving tears into his eyes, nonetheless he can see his wrist and palm turn crystalline and translucent, watch the change crawling down his fingers and around the mark until that is the last thing remaining as it is supposed to, entirely unaffected.

"What-" Corvo finds himself muttering, as the pain slowly abates and he pushes himself back onto his feet, losing balance for a mere moment due to the rushing, buzzing sensation in his ears and he takes a step back to compensate. Except, that he'd been at the platform edge, Corvo realizes at the same moment as his foot fails to find purchase.

He tips backwards over the edge, unable to call upon his powers through the pain of his arm, unable to grab ahold of the ledge due to the angle. Instead, he is now falling rapidly, the red waves above becoming indistinct within seconds and only as he stares up, while he goes down, does he realise how big it is. Bigger than he can conceive, bigger than he can see despite it radiating light, stretching above him like a blood red, horizonless sky.

"Finally," he thinks "just because the Void is, does not mean this task is unbound by time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone confused how corvo met someone he knows right away, and my own laziness of not adding it: You enter the afterlife automatically close to (dead) people you know/are familiar with/have a past with. if none fo these exist, then it'd atleast put you to people who were from the general area/time you're from. 
> 
> Is any of this chapter plot relevant? Uuuhhhhh...... good question.


End file.
